


Safe House

by EloiseReed



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Spoilers, Awesome Natasha Romanov, Background Relationships, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes Returns, Campfires, Cap totally swears, Domestic Avengers, First Kiss, First Time, Happy Ending, Joy of Cooking, M/M, Minor Bruce Banner/Natasha Romanov, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Pre-serum flashbacks, Sam Wilson Cooks Better, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Steve Rogers Cooks, Steve Rogers Feels, Upstate New York, Virgin Steve Rogers, Vision and Scarlet Witch kind of get pushed way to the background, WWII flashbacks, cottage life, new avengers team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-09-06
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:53:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4355102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EloiseReed/pseuds/EloiseReed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been over a year of searching for Bucky with no results. Steve tries to focus on training the new team with Natasha. Natasha focuses on helping Steve.</p><p>"Come with me."</p><p>"Ok, where?"</p><p>Natasha's expression was playful. "You'll see," she said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something set post-Age of Ultron. I felt like the new information given in that movie presented some challenges to the Steve/Bucky fandom (such as...seriously, Bucky is still out there?!). Also, there is like a whole new Avengers cast. But don't worry, this story is still FULL of clichés. Oh, and this is my first story in this fandom even though I have been obsessed with these characters for like a decade!
> 
> I set this in the fall after Age of Ultron (which I feel was set in the spring). I wanted to explore Natasha and Steve's friendship, which I think would grow even stronger once they became co-leaders of the Avengers, and I wanted to reunite Steve and Bucky. 
> 
> I should note that the rating is M but there's nothing M about the first bunch of chapters, really.

Steve sat against the arm of Sam's couch, arms folded across his chest, and braced himself for the conversation he had been expecting for months. The expectation didn't make him any more ready to have it. 

"You want a beer or something? Water? Coffee? I could make coffee," Sam said nervously. He was clearly not looking forward to saying the words any more than Steve was to hearing them.

"No thanks. Just say what you have to say," Steve said, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.

"I, ah, I'm just waiting for Nat. She wants to be a part of this. She should be here any second." Sam's gaze focused on the door as if he could will Natasha to walk through it. 

"Does she?" Steve asked, annoyed. 

Steve grimaced inwardly at his tone. Sam was the last person on Earth he had any right to be annoyed with. 

He glanced around at Sam's impeccably tidy living quarters. Neatness was something they had in common, a holdover from their respective military careers. Steve's also had a lot to do with the fact that he had never been one to own many possessions.

The team had all moved into the new Avengers facility upstate a couple of months ago. The dwellings were not as lavish as what had been provided by Tony at the tower in Manhattan, but they were still very bright, modern and spacious. The new building currently had a dozen apartments designated for Avengers team members, with only six being used full-time. As team leaders, Natasha and Steve had slightly larger apartments that were across the hall from each other. The living arrangements were practical and convenient, but Steve often wondered if living his life for and around the Avengers 24/7 was what he really wanted after all. 

Sam's relief was visible on his face when Natasha rapped sharply on the door minutes later. He quickly lunged forward to open it. 

"Nat, can I get you anything? Beer, coffee—"

"Can we just," Steve interrupted, unable to contain his impatience, "please?"

Nat shared a look with Sam. 

"Steve," Sam started, "I know you aren't going to want to hear this. And I want you to know that this doesn't mean—"

"We need to stop looking for Barnes," Natasha interrupted.

"Yeah," Sam said, eyeing her wearily, "what she said."

Steve looked hard at both of them. “Sounds like you two are decided, then.”

Sam sighed, “It’s been over a year, Steve.”

_Twelve months, three weeks, four days…_

“So we should just give up?” Steve asked tightly. He felt like he was about to explode.

“Steve, no one said—”

“He’s out there,” Steve continued, louder than he meant to be. His voice was angry, he couldn’t help it. “He’s _alive_. You can’t expect me to forget that.”

“No one is forgetting that,” Sam tried again. “And believe me, if I thought we might find him if we keep looking, I would keep looking. You _know_ I would.”

Steve sighed and looked at the floor. He felt his anger subside, replaced by guilt and the sadness that hadn’t really left him since he came out of the ice.

“I know that, Sam. Nat. You’ve both been amazing, really. Sam, you’ve been helping me track him down even when you barely knew me. Even though he tried to....”

"Kill me?" Sam shrugged. “Isn’t that how most Avengers meet? One of us tries to kill the other and then we become friends?”

Steve’s mouth twitched up a bit. “Yeah. Usually.”

Sam and Natasha stood next to each other in front of Sam’s kitchenette. Steve noticed that they both looked tired, which was unusual for both of them. But of course they were. Steve and Natasha had been working the new team hard, and in the off time Steve and Sam had been jetting off to faraway locales any time they got even the slightest possibility of a lead on Bucky. Natasha joined them on occasion, including this most recent (unsuccessful) excursion to Warsaw.

“It’s just, it’s _Bucky_.” Steve said it as if that was all the explanation they needed. That they would understand. He knew how lost he must look to them.

“Steve," Natasha said, "this isn't giving up. This isn't the end. But as long as we keep searching for him, he's going to keep running. If he doesn't want to be found, we'll never find him. He's too good at this."

It was nothing that she hadn't tried to tell Steve before. She understood what Bucky was going through better than any of them. Steve just couldn't believe that Bucky wouldn't want Steve to find him. That he wouldn't want Steve to be beside him every moment of every day, like Steve wanted Bucky to be. 

Over a year. Over a year since the mask had fallen off the Winter Soldier's face and Steve felt his world shatter all over again. Bucky, whose face he hadn't seen since it was plummeting from the train in the Alps, screaming in terror and then gone in an instant. It was an image that replayed in Steve's mind almost constantly, and being frozen for almost seven decades had done nothing to erase it. 

Then, suddenly, Bucky's face had been in front of him again. Still young, still the same, but not the same at all. A living weapon, a tool of Hydra. All that time.

Steve had tried desperately to get his friend back. Surely Bucky would remember him. He would never hurt Steve, not if he recognized him...

But Bucky _did_ hurt Steve. He damn near killed him, and Steve had just...stopped. He was done. He had no desire to live in a world where Hydra could force Bucky to kill him. It was too sick, too horrible. The final scene in this nightmare of a play he had been a part of since waking up. As he had slipped into unconsciousness before dropping into the Potomac, his last thought had been "Finally."

The thing is that Steve is terrible at dying, and Bucky did what Steve hadn't been able to on the train in the Alps: he watched his friend plummet, and he dove after him. Bucky had saved Steve's life without thinking of his own. He hadn't hesitated. Could Steve have saved Bucky if he had acted faster and jumped? He hadn't even tried, too frozen in horror until it was too late. 

Bucky had saved him.

This fact had filled Steve with new resolve while he had been recovering in the hospital. His friend was still in there. Bucky was _alive_. Steve would find him. Finally, Steve could save him. 

"You really think he'll find me if we stop looking?" Steve asked. His voice was small, exhausted. 

"I don't know," Natasha said. She was never one to sugar coat anything. "But I know if he wants to find you, he can. I can assure you that he knows we've been looking for him. When he's ready, he'll find you."

"It's been so long," Steve said quietly, his gaze fixed on the corner above the door where the wall met the ceiling. He blinked to force down the tears that were stinging his eyes. "What if he's gone? What if he's been captured? What if he's..."

Sam rested a hand on Steve's shoulder. "The thing about you guys is that you're both pretty hard to kill. And, like Nat says, he's really good at hiding. Besides, the Avengers have Hydra on the ropes these days."

"I worried, when we moved upstate..."

Sam couldn't help but laugh. "You thought he might have trouble locating you here? The giant building with a huge Avengers logo on it might be hard to find?"

Steve looked sternly at Sam, but he couldn't help but smile back a little. "Yeah. I guess it's not subtle." He noticed Natasha turn her gaze to the floor. 

The weeks after Steve left the hospital he had been filled with hope and excitement that made him giddy. As the weeks turned into months, his excitement left him, replaced by frustration and fear. Now, a year later, Steve was barely keeping the devastation he felt inside from taking over completely. 

"I just..." Steve said, his voice a shadow of the one that commanded the Avengers, "I can't lose him. Not again."

Sam placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know, Steve. We just can't force him. He _will_ come when he's ready. I believe that."

Steve nodded. He looked at Natasha, who was looking back at him with an unusually open expression. Like she had just realized something. 

"What?" Steve asked.

"Nothing," she said. "It's nothing."

****

It was a routine they had fallen into. Every Wednesday night Natasha would cross the hall to Steve's apartment and they would watch _Nature_ on PBS. They wouldn't talk much. Sometimes Steve would do sketches as they watched. It was peaceful and comforting for both of them. 

They would always sit together on Steve's couch, and usually she would end up curled up against him. Sometimes Steve would gently run his fingers through her hair, like he was doing now. If anyone else had been in the room, they may have raised an eyebrow. But no one ever was, so neither Steve nor Natasha had to explain themselves to anyone. They both understood the situation perfectly: they were both lonely, both pining for someone who wasn't there. Neither knew where those someones were right now, or if they were ok. Both were fighting every instinct they had to go out and search for them. 

They had both been left behind, but neither of them had given up hope. Steve believed that Bucky would come back to him when he was ready, and he was sure Natasha thought the same about Bruce. 

But neither Bucky, nor Bruce, were ready to be found, so Steve and Natasha watched _Nature_ on PBS. 

The television showed footage of a peregrine falcon diving for prey. 

"We should call Sam," Natasha said dryly. "His friends are on TV."

Steve snorted. "I don't think he cares about actual birds very much."

A moment of silence went by before Steve heard Natasha say, "I hate spiders."

"Hmm?"

"Spiders. I don't like them. So I suppose 'Falcon' doesn't have to like birds."

Steve chuckled a little. "Why is that your name, anyway?"

He felt her shrug against him, her eyes never leaving the television. "Captain America was taken," she said.

"Fine, don't tell me."

She pushed herself away from him and moved to the end of the couch. She sat cross-legged, facing him. She looked very serious. 

"You don't have to tell me," Steve said, suddenly worried he'd offended her. "I wasn't trying to pry. I'm sorry if—"

She waved her hand dismissively. "Forget that. I need to ask you something."

"Ok..."

"How long have you been in love with Barnes?"

"What?"

Her eyes told him that it was ridiculous to pretend he didn't know exactly what she was talking about. 

He sighed. He hadn't wanted anyone to know, certainly not before Bucky did. He should have figured Nat would know. 

"I don't..." he started.

"Steve."

"I was just going to say, I don't remember a time when I didn't love him."

He saw her eyes widen slightly. Then her face showed real sympathy. Steve had to look away. 

She reached out and took his hand. "Does he know?"

Steve shook his head slowly. He felt his eyes stinging. Dammit. 

"I don't know if he ever knew. Maybe. We never...we couldn't, y'know?"

"You could now," she said. 

"Yeah," Steve gave an exasperated laugh, "that's what I hear. Still can't quite believe it."

"God," she said quietly, a sudden realization hitting her. "You watched him die, the man you loved."

Steve cleared his throat, hoping it would make some of the encroaching tightness go away. "Yes," he said, "I did."

"When you saw him again, last year, still young...I can't even imagine."

"Biggest shock of my life. And that is saying something."

He gave her a weak smile. She crawled toward him to wrap her arms around him. He returned the hug, wrapping his massive arms around her small, powerful body. 

"I'm so sorry, Steve. You deserve so much better than all this pain."

"You too, Nat."

He kissed the top of her head. She released him, but stayed curled against him as she turned her attention back to the television. They watched the rest of the program in silence, because what else could they do? Steve stroked her hair and tried to push down the overwhelming sadness that almost constantly threatened to overtake him.

****

"Come with me."

"Ok, where?"

Natasha's expression was playful. "You'll see," she said. 

Steve followed her into the elevator, and was surprised when it descended to the underground parking garage. 

"We driving somewhere?"

"Yes. But not far."

She led him to her black Porsche. She slid easily into the driver's seat. Steve wedged himself awkwardly into the passenger seat. 

"You need to get a bigger car," he complained. 

"Clint's never had a problem with it," she said, straight faced. 

Steve laughed. "Where are we going?" he asked again. "It's been a long day and I'm not in the mood for surprises."

"You'll like this one."

Steve sighed and accepted the fact that she wasn't going to spoil the surprise. They drove out of the garage and into the late afternoon sun. It was early September, which was the perfect time of year to be in upstate New York. Fall would arrive soon, and the leaves would be spectacular, but for now the weather was still warm and the trees were lush and green. 

Steve liked the country. He had never really lived outside a major city, but he quickly grew to love the open sky, the fresh air, the quiet. His previous rural living experience had been full of tanks and explosions and death. This was better. 

Not that they were living anywhere particularly rustic. The Avengers headquarters was probably the most technologically advanced building in the world. But just outside its walls was beautiful, peaceful countryside. Steve loved taking his motorcycle out on the scenic roads that wound around mountains, rivers, farmland, and endless trees. He wasn't sure, but he thought Natasha liked the country too. 

They drove for almost thirty minutes. Steve had given up asking Natasha questions because it was clear she wasn't going to answer them. Eventually she pulled off onto an unpaved, narrow road that cut through some dense forest.

"I don't think this car was designed for off-road driving," Steve commented.

"She can handle it," Natasha said. 

A minute later they came to a clearing with a small house, a cottage, really, that sat near the edge of a lake. Dense trees wrapped around the property on all sides that weren't waterfront, with no neighboring houses visible. 

Natasha turned off the engine and swiftly exited the car. "Come on," she said when Steve didn't move. 

He opened the car door and got out. He heard crickets, and birds, but otherwise total silence. Natasha was already walking toward the house. 

"What is this place?" Steve asked, hoping she might finally give him some information about what they were doing. 

She looked back over her shoulder. "Safe house," she said with a grin. 

"I'm not going to walk in there and meet Tony's secret wife and children, am I?"

Natasha kept walking and Steve followed. She pulled a key out of the pocket of her jeans and opened the door. 

Steve followed her inside. There was a large living room with a wood stove in one corner. It was furnished with a very worn-looking couch and a few wooden chairs. There was a wooden coffee table in the middle of the room. To one side of the large open space was a kitchenette with a round table and four chairs. One wall was mostly windows that faced the lake. The door they had entered though also led to a large wrap-around deck. There was a narrow staircase next to the kitchen area. 

"There are three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs," Nat explained, "and the couch pulls out into a bed. The place needs a little work, but I think we can get it looking nice."

" _We_? Who? What is this place?"

"I told you," she said, "it's a safe house. I bought it last week."

"Bought it for what reason?"

She looked at him. "Because we need it."

He felt his brow furrow. She sighed. 

"I'm not Clint," she explained. "I know that. Neither are you. We are never going to have what he has with Laura and the kids." 

"No," Steve agreed, "I think that's probably true."

"But we can't just be Avengers all the time either. At least, I can't. Not anymore."

Steve nodded slowly, starting to understand. "I can't either."

"I bought this place so we could both have somewhere to go when we don't want to be Avengers. But it's close to HQ so we're not far away if duty calls. And not just for us. If Sam or any of the others need a break, they can come here."

Steve looked at her, dumbfounded. "I can't believe this."

"What?" She asked, frowning. He could see her guard going up.

"No! It's just...it's a hell of a thing you've done here, Nat."

Her lips twitched. "Language," she teased. 

"Fuck off."

She laughed and punched his arm as she moved past him to walk back outside. He followed her onto the deck, which wrapped around to the back of the house where you could see the lake. They leaned against the rail, side by side, gazing at the water.

"This is really amazing, Nat. Thank you."

She shrugged. "We can be normal, right? Why not?"

"Absolutely. When will Thor be dropping by?"

She laughed. "I think I'll take up gardening. I've always wanted to try that."

"I'm good at building fires."

"Pretty good a chopping wood, I saw, too."

"Oh, is that why you invited me to be a part of this?"

"Didn't hurt."

They stood there together in silence for a few minutes. Eventually they got back in the car and drove back to HQ, both feeling a little lighter than they had on the drive there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I had another reason for buying this house, Steve."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God this isn't a Natasha/Steve story.

The new team members, save Sam, were near strangers to both Natasha and Steve. The team had plenty of respect for both leaders, and Steve appreciated having more recruits with military backgrounds, but he couldn't help but miss the old team. He would never want Tony to know how much he enjoyed working with him, even if Stark was an ass most of the time. He wondered how Tony was doing without all of them. He had expected to see him back by now. 

Steve had liked Rhodes immediately when Tony had introduced them last year. He was an easy guy to like, and had a lot of integrity. It was hard to believe he was Tony's best friend, actually. Sam and Rhodes had become fast friends, too, sharing a love of high tech flight suits. They were also very competitive with each other. 

Steve still wasn't exactly sure how to talk to Vision or Wanda. Natasha had spent some time with Wanda, which Steve felt was good for both of them. Natasha could relate somewhat to what Hydra had put Wanda through, and these days Natasha was much more open to talking about her past. Sam also talked with Wanda, about the death of her brother and her ordeal with Hydra. She was adjusting remarkably well, all things considered. 

Vision, who Steve still had a hard time not calling JARVIS, was a complete mystery to him. Was he a person now? When he was JARVIS, you could talk to him like a person, but he wasn't a person. Now that he had a robotic body, powered by some sort of magic stone, was he more than just Tony's programming? Steve really wished Tony had stuck around to help with Vision. 

So they were a bit of a mixed bag, the new Avengers, but they were coming together. They certainly had a lot of power between them, and some nice diversity among their skills. He wasn't even sure what the full extent of Vision or Wanda's powers were. Maybe they didn't know either. Technology and magic weren't Steve's strong suits. 

"We could use Clint back," Steve said after training exercises one day. "The flying guys outnumber us now."

"Not yet," Natasha pointed out. "It's dead even by my count."

Steve shook his head. "I'll bet Wanda could fly if she tried."

"I'll take that action." Nat smiled at him. "Loser buys dinner."

"You're on."

"You still joining me this weekend, Rogers?"

When they had agreed to continue on with the Avengers, training the new team, one of the stipulations had been that training and any administrative work would be kept to a normal five-day business week schedule. Missions obviously would occur whenever necessary, but when things were quiet, the team had evenings and weekends to themselves. This weekend Steve and Natasha had made plans to go to the cottage to do some work on it.

"Absolutely. You think it's still warm enough to swim in the lake?"

"Well, you could always try it. Worst case scenario you wake up seventy years in the future."

"Hilarious."

The next day was Friday. Rhodes and Sam had plans fly to Buffalo on Sunday for a Bills game. Vision and Wanda were...doing whatever it was that they did. Steve felt guilty for not trying harder with them. At least they seemed very friendly with each other. 

Steve drove himself and Natasha to the cottage this time, in a company jeep that he had signed out. Natasha flipped between songs on her phone, playing what Steve supposed were some of the more popular songs of the last century. "Have you heard this one yet?" she would ask, playing something loud and fast and angry, and when it was over she would ask the same question as a slow, soulful ballad played. Steve had been trying to get up-to-date on music, he really had, but it had fallen pretty far down his priority list. 

When they arrived they unloaded the supplies they had brought up with them. They divided up tasks and got to work. Natasha slapped a notepad and pen on the kitchen table so they could both keep a running list of things they needed to buy. Steve headed upstairs with the new bedsheets Natasha had bought because if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was make a bed you could bounce a quarter off.

The floors were all wood but there were some dusty looking rugs in each of the bedrooms. Steve rolled them all up, threw them easily over his shoulder, and carried them outside. He hung them each over the clothesline and went into the woods to find a good-sized stick to beat the dust out with. He was already enjoying the nostalgic simplicity of being here. These chores were the same as what he remembered from growing up in the thirties. He felt at ease here. 

As the clouds of dust left the rugs he thought idly of a time where doing this would have caused him to lapse into an asthma attack. A time where he would barely be getting any dust off these rugs anyway, with his small frame and weak arms. 

They worked separately for a few hours. When they finally decided they'd done enough for the day the sun had set. They stood in the kitchen and toasted each other with cold beers that Natasha'd had the foresight to stock the fridge with. 

"What?" Nat asked when she noticed Steve smiling to himself. 

"Nothing. Just, you look happy. Satisfied."

"I am. I mean, I like this. It's different, but it's good, y'know?"

"I have a good idea," Steve said. "It's a clear night. Let's get a bonfire going."

Natasha held up a finger and then turned to open a cupboard door. She retrieved a bag of marshmallows, holding them up excitedly. 

Steve laughed. "You never fail to surprise me, Widow."

****

"The last time I was sitting around a bonfire, the circumstances were a little less relaxing," Steve mused. 

"Rockets' red glare? Bombs bursting in air?"

"Something like that."

Steve and Natasha were sitting beside an impressive bonfire on the narrow beach at the edge of the lake. The cottage had come with most of a cord of firewood, and the existing fire pit had a semi-circle of wooden benches built around it. 

Nat was roasting a marshmallow on a long stick over the fire. She was holding it just far enough from the flame so the confection would slowly turn golden without ever burning. She had fierce concentration in her eyes. Steve was more or less lighting his own marshmallows on fire, blowing them out, and popping them into his mouth. 

"You know, I've never toasted a marshmallow before," Steve said. "I've been missing out."

"Neither have I," Natasha said, "but that doesn't mean I can't do it perfectly."

"You do everything perfectly," he pointed out.

"Yeah, and you're such a fuck up."

Steve laughed. He glanced up at the sky, where more and more stars were poking holes in the blackness by the minute. The fire crackled and the crickets sang around them. This was good. 

Steve set his roasting stick down and picked up his beer. He watched Natasha savour the perfect, golden marshmallow she had worked so hard on. It was the best he'd felt since...

"Thank you, Natasha. Seriously. I really did need this."

"I know."

"Do you think they'd notice if we never went back?"

Natasha put her stick down and flipped the hood of her sweater up. In the firelight he could see her lips move into a smile. "Yeah. I mean, we're not _Clint_."

"Are you cold?" Steve asked, trying not to sound concerned because Nat hated anyone being concerned about her. "You can get closer to me. I've been told I'm a human furnace..."

His smile dropped as he said that. Nat noticed, because she missed nothing.

"Barnes told you that," she said. Not a question. 

"Yeah, uh...yeah. He did. Back...it was during the war," Steve fiddled with the label on his beer bottle. "We would share a tent sometimes. Most of the time, actually. It would get really cold at night, but I was never cold. Bucky would sleep against me and he'd say things like that."

Nat didn't say anything, but she did move closer. 

"He never really got over how big I was, after the serum, I don't think. It was a real shock for him." Steve let out a choked laugh. "He had always taken care of me. Sometimes I resented it, but I always loved him for it. I don't know what I would have done without him."

Natasha gently pulled his hand away from the bottle he was torturing and held it. 

"I can't...I don't know how to explain what we were to each other. It's easy to say he was my best friend, or he was like a brother, but it was more than that. Bucky was everything to me. I couldn't fully accept or understand it at the time, but I know it now. I was madly in love with him." Steve stared at the hottest part of the fire, deep into the angry, hissing embers. "I am still madly in love with him. I always will be."

"He loves you, too," she said. Steve felt his heart freeze. A lump formed instantly in his throat. What had happened to the good feelings he had been enjoying only moments before?

"I don't know."

"Everything you've told me about him, before the war, during the war, and even now. You know I have first-hand experience with being programmed. His mission was to kill you and he saved your life, Steve. You must know how astonishing that is. How impossible, almost. I don't think anything less than love could have distracted him from his mission."

Steve pursed his lips and tried to will away the tears that blurred his vision. Everything in him was tight and trembling. He hated this. 

"Why won't he..." Steve wasn't able to finish. He started sobbing uncontrollably. He was mortified and he heard himself apologizing between sobs, but Natasha just held him and rubbed soothing circles on his back. Natasha, who was hurting as much as Steve was, he was sure, but she could contain it. As he fought to regain his composure, Steve felt guilty. He had made some really amazing friends in this new century, and he was constantly miserable because they weren't _him_. He was selfish and ungrateful. 

"I'm sorry, Nat," he said for the millionth time, the tears finally subsiding.

"Stop apologizing," she said, pulling away from him. "You needed that."

Steve ran a hand over his face, sniffed. "Yeah. Maybe."

They sat in silence for a moment before Natasha spoke. "I'm sorry if I ask too many questions about you and him. I just...I've never been in love. I'm just curious about it, I guess."

Steve was taken aback. It didn't seem like something Natasha would say, and besides...

"What about Bruce? I thought..."

"No. I don't think so. I mean, I thought, maybe, at the time. I care a lot about Bruce. But maybe I was trying to make something out of nothing? I don't know."

Steve knew this was exceptionally open for Natasha, so he didn't interrupt. 

"I miss Bruce a lot. I'm worried about him, everyday. I would like to know that he's alright. That's been the hardest part. I...I hate knowing that I drove him away."

"You didn't. Nat, you _didn't_. You can't think that."

"Of course I did. I came on too strong and scared him. Or maybe he just wanted to protect me. Maybe both. Either way, he would still be here if I hadn't acted like a lovestruck teenager. It was stupid."

Natasha's eyes never left the fire as she talked. Steve's eyes never left Natasha. He was stunned and saddened by everything she was saying. 

"Caring about someone is never stupid. Wanting to be happy is not stupid," Steve said, somehow finding his Captain America voice. 

"Yeah, well, I'm still learning," she admitted, and leaned against him. Steve wrapped an arm around her and pulled her closer. They watched the fire in silence until they both decided it was time for bed. 

****

"Are you coming in?" Steve asked. He stood at the edge of the water, his toes curling in the sand. The morning air was crisp, and there was a breeze, but he was determined. 

"Not a chance," Nat replied from the comfort of her Adirondack chair. "Besides, I have a great view from here." She pulled down her sunglasses to look over them lecherously. 

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," Steve said as he pulled his shirt off.

"What?"

"Being, y'know...noticed."

"Objectified? Ogled? Mentally undressed?"

"God, is _that_ what you're doing?" Steve knew he was blushing. 

"Of course not. I don't suppose you'd believe me if I told you that no one wears swimsuits in this century?"

"Since I just bought these this week at a very popular store, I would say no," Steve said, before adding with a smirk, "Besides, that's no way for a lady to talk."

He didn't wait to hear Natasha's reply before taking several wide strides into the water and diving beneath the surface. He emerged seconds later, quite a distance from the shore thanks to his enhanced swimming abilities. He could see Natasha sitting in her chair, now holding a book in front of her face. The water was definitely cold, but it didn't bother Steve as much as it may have a normal person. He stayed in for awhile, letting Natasha enjoy her book. 

From the middle of the lake he could see other cottages lining the shores. He didn't see any signs of people at any of them. He lay back in the water and looked up at the blue sky above him, relishing the silence. 

He caught Natasha glancing over the top of her book as he toweled himself off on the beach. He rolled his eyes and felt himself blushing again as he picked up his shirt and draped the towel over his shoulders. 

He was struck suddenly with a memory of sitting on a beach—Coney Island—looking over the top of his sketch book. He remembers the dryness of his mouth, the fluttering of his stomach as he watched Bucky emerge from the ocean. As Bucky walked toward him, Steve could see the rivulets of water tracing the lines of Bucky's muscular chest and stomach. His job at the docks had given him the body of an Adonis, something Steve had both envied and longed to touch in ways that made him uncomfortable. He remembered that moment as clear as if it were happening right now. The late afternoon sun hitting the water on Bucky's skin, causing him to glisten like a bronze statue. Bucky's wet hair hanging down over his eyes until he flicked his head to force it to the side. Steve had never seen anything more beautiful. 

Bucky had plopped himself cheerfully beside him on the sand, dripping everywhere. To Steve's horror and delight, Bucky immediately leaned full against him, hoping to annoy Steve by getting him wet. Steve hadn't been annoyed, but he pretended to be because he didn't know what else he could do. In truth he had wanted to press back against Bucky, to stay that way until the sun set. 

When he got closer to Natasha he could see that the book she was reading was called _Northeastern Gardening_. He couldn't help but find it a little charming. 

She stood when he approached. "We're going shopping," she announced. 

"Ok."

"There's a farm market and a greenhouse about fifteen minutes away. And I also want to go into town to buy a barbecue."

"I like the sound of that."

"Good, get dressed, Rogers."

****

Two hours later they were driving back with a jeep full of flower bulbs, gardening supplies, locally farmed food, a charcoal barbecue that needed assembly, tools required for the assembly, charcoal briquettes, and some basic necessities for the house. Natasha was nothing if not efficient. They stopped at a bakery, at Steve's insistence, that advertised sandwiches. He was pretty much always hungry. 

They sat at one of the three small tables inside the bakery and ate their sandwiches, Natasha explaining the importance of planting bulbs for spring now. Steve was only half listening, but noticed when she abruptly stopped talking. 

"Uh-oh, Cap. I think a fan's spotted you." She nodded her head to a spot over Steve's shoulder. He glanced around and saw a woman with a young girl staring at him. 

They approached the table and Steve straightened. He didn't mind. Not really. He was used to it by now. 

"Excuse me," the woman said, "are you Black Widow?"

Natasha looked stunned and said nothing. 

"Yes, she is," Steve said, smiling.

"Sorry to bother you," the woman said hurriedly. "My daughter just loves you and she thought it might be you." She gestured to the girl, maybe eleven years old, who was standing several paces behind her mother, looking very shy and nervous. 

"Your daughter," Natasha said blankly. "She does?"

"You're her favourite Avenger. Sorry, I'll let you and your friend enjoy your lunch. I just wanted to let you know."

They left and Natasha went back to her sandwich. Steve knew she was trying hard to act like nothing unusual had just happened. 

"That was sweet," Steve said.

"That was _weird_ ," Natasha countered. 

"It's not weird. People finally see Black Widow the way I do. The way the whole team does."

She kept her eyes down but he could see her lips twitch as she fought a smile. 

"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she said.

****

It took an hour longer than expected, and involved a lot of Russian profanity on Natasha's part, but they had the barbecue assembled well before dinner time. 

"Tony would have had that built in five minutes," Nat grumbled. 

"Yeah, but then it would have tried to kill us."

"Do you know how to cook at all, Rogers?"

"I didn't have much to work with back in my day, but I boil a mean turnip."

Natasha scrunched her nose. "I think we've both eaten enough root vegetables in our lives. Growing up in Soviet Russia wasn't so different from growing up during the Depression, I don't think. At least not food-wise."

"I've fallen back in love with potatoes, though. These days there's cream and butter and herbs and fancy salts to make them taste amazing. People don't know how good they have it."

"Alright, that settles it, you're making mashed potatoes while I grill these steaks."

This is how Steve found himself in the kitchen, carefully studying the recipe for mashed potatoes in the brand new copy of _The Joy of Cooking_ Natasha had brought. He was determined to get this right. 

"This book needs pictures," he complained. 

"I specifically bought that book because it's been around almost as long as you have," Natasha said as she meticulously seasoned two giant porterhouse steaks. "I thought you'd find it soothing."

Steve rolled his eyes. "I didn't own a lot of cookbooks in the thirties. This recipe calls for diced celery. Does that sound right to you?"

Natasha scrunched her nose. "No. Skip that."

"But it says celery..."

"At ease, Captain. It's just a suggestion. Relax. What else can we put in there?"

Steve traced a finger down the list of ingredients. "Garlic?"

"Yes! Definitely. Here." She tossed Steve a bulb of garlic, which he noticed just in time to catch. 

He picked up a large kitchen knife and got to work dismantling the sticky bulb of garlic. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder as she walked behind him with the platter of steaks. "I'm taking these out to the grill. I trust you to make fantastic mashed potatoes."

"I'll do my best, ma'am," Steve said, pulling out his best Captain America voice to make her laugh.

 

****

"Do you like girls at all?"

The question, like so many of Natasha's, came out of nowhere. 

"Sure, I mean, I like _you_."

"That's not what I meant, Rogers."

They were in the kitchen, cleaning the dishes. Steve was washing, Natasha was drying and putting away. 

"I do. I mean, I _have_ liked girls," Steve said, his cadence awkward and halting. "I find girls— _women_ —attractive. Plenty of them. Sure."

"So I didn't gross you out that time I made you kiss me?"

Steve smiled. "No. Definitely not." He thought a moment, then added, "But, I do have to confess something: I lied when you asked me after if, y'know..."

"Your first kiss since 1945?"

"Yeah. It was."

"I know."

Of course she knew. Natasha wasn't someone you could lie to. Especially when you were as terrible a liar as Steve.

"Have you ever kissed a boy?" Natasha asked, casual as anything. 

Steve flushed. "Not afraid of getting personal, are you?"

"Not anymore."

"No," Steve replied, somewhat curtly, "I haven't."

Natasha didn't respond. She was waiting for more, Steve knew. He sighed. 

"I know people these days are pretty open about...sex....stuff..." he heard Natasha giggle and he shot her an annoyed look. "And believe me, a lot of people were back in my day, too, but I've always been a little different, I guess. When it comes to...that stuff."

"Different how?"

"I just, I mean Bucky was out every weekend on dates. Girls loved him. I had to hear all about his exploits when he got home after."

"That bothered you?"

"Yes. It did. I was so...I don't think I knew at the time exactly, but I was so _jealous_. I mean, I'm sure I told myself I was jealous of Bucky, but I was jealous of those girls."

"Is that why you would stay home?"

"Well, that and I was short and scrawny and no girl ever looked at me except to laugh at me. Plus, I was sick a lot, but Bucky usually stayed home those nights."

Steve cleared his throat. 

"Anyway," he continued, "what I am trying to say is that I was different because I didn't want to be out in those dance halls kissing girls. I didn't want to brag about the dames I'd..." He looked at Natasha, who was now watching him intently, "I really didn't notice girls—or guys—all that much. For me it was always just Bucky."

"You have a very specific type."

"I do," Steve laughed darkly. "My cross to bear, I guess."

"So, no one else?"

"During the war there was a woman..."

"Peggy Carter," Natasha supplied, before explaining, "I did some research after our 'honeymoon' in New Jersey."

"Yeah. She was an amazing woman. I thought, maybe, she could be the one to finally rid me of the curse I'd been carrying. She could make me forget about how badly I wanted to kiss my best friend."

Steve couldn't believe he had said the last part out loud. 

"When Bucky died, I was beyond messed up," he continued. "It felt like the biggest part of me had been ripped out and replaced by rage. I knew I would never feel happiness again. So I went on a suicide mission and...you know the rest."

"It didn't take."

"Right."

Natasha chewed on her bottom lip and looked off to the side. She looked like she had something she wanted to say. 

"What?" Steve asked. 

"I had another reason for buying this house, Steve."

"Another reason?"

"Yeah, just," she gestured for him to follow her to the living room. He sat on the couch and she sat in one of the wooden chairs opposite him. She leaned forward, hands clasped together on her lap.

"I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to get your hopes up, but..."

"You know where he is?" Steve blurted out, unable to contain himself. 

"No, I'm sorry, I don't. And I am not going to pretend to know exactly what he's thinking or going through. But you know I have some familiarity with what he may be experiencing, and I think he _will_ come looking for you. But..."

"But?"

"But not if your home address is Avengers HQ."

Steve understood immediately, and felt stupid for not considering this before. 

"Of course not," he said quietly, "he would never feel comfortable..."

She shook her head. "No. He wouldn't. It would probably be hard for him to distinguish between Hydra and the Avengers."

"Who could blame him? Look at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Exactly. Again, I don't have any actual information here, but I would bet my life that Bucky has been keeping close tabs on you since he pulled you out of the river. I thought, if you were somewhere isolated and non-threatening..."

"Maybe he'll come back?" Steve asked, his voice more desperate than he wanted it to sound. He just needed a granule of hope. Anything. 

"Maybe."

Steve's eyes involuntarily drifted to one of the windows, as if Bucky would be there looking in. 

"Natasha," he said finally, after a long silence, "you are an amazing friend."

Natasha's face looked surprised, and even a little scared. "No, I just—"

"I know you don't want me to get all sappy, but I just want you to know that you are easily one of my favourite things about this century."

Natasha looked away, but her lips quirked into a smile. "What else is on that list?"

"It's a very short list. Definitely having easy access to steak is on there. Food in general, really."

"Food and me?"

"Yeah. Oh, and air conditioning. That's pretty great."

"Food, air conditioning, and me."

Steve pretended to think hard about it. "Yeah, that about covers it."

Natasha stood and moved to leave. "I'm gonna head to my room. Thanks for the mashed potatoes, Cap."

Steve gently grabbed her wrist. "Seriously, Nat. Thank you."

" _Seriously_ , I didn't do anything. He might not even—"

"I know. But you tried, and you have no idea how much that means to me." He pulled her into a hug, which she relaxed into after a tense second. 

"Hey, Nat?"

"Mm?" She murmured against his chest. 

"You would have really liked Peggy, I think. You remind me a bit of her."

She was silent, and Steve wondered what she was thinking. "I'm sure I would have," is what she finally said.

****

The first time Steve and Bucky had been reunited, the night Steve had rescued Bucky and the others from Hydra's factory, they had gotten into one of the biggest arguments of their lives. 

Once they were clear of the factory, and had found a place to hunker down for the rest of the night, everyone was exhausted. None of the men, besides Bucky, had any idea who Steve was, but they all agreed that they owed him their lives. 

Steve had taken first watch. He didn't need much sleep since the serum, but he suspected he wouldn't have been able to sleep anyway. Adrenaline still coursed through him, and he was ecstatic to be back together with Bucky. 

Bucky had needed rest desperately, but he'd refused to leave Steve's side. Steve wasn't sure he could have let him be apart from him anyway. 

"Anything you want to tell me?" Bucky asked sardonically when most of the men were asleep. He hadn't stopped gaping at Steve since they had cleared the factory. 

Steve snorted. "I know it's probably a bit of a shock."

"A bit," Bucky replied, flatly. 

"I just wanted to be able to do my part," Steve shrugged. "I was given an opportunity, and I took it."

"An opportunity," Bucky repeated. "That's what you call it?"

"Yeah," Steve replied, brow furrowed. Clearly Bucky had something to say. "Why? What would you call it?"

"I'd call it fucking insane. And reckless. And stupid! And why the hell would you let ‘em do this to you?!"

"Shhh!" Steve glanced at the sleeping men around them. "I don't know what you're so upset about. They _fixed_ me."

Bucky grumbled something.

"What was that?" Steve asked, never one to let anything go. 

"I said there wasn't anything wrong with you before," Bucky barked.

Steve stared at him like he was crazy. "You can't be serious. Nothing wrong except the asthma, and the bum ear, and the weak heart, and the fact that a slight breeze could knock me over—"

"You could have _died_!"

"I _would_ have died if I hadn't changed anything!"

Bucky just shook his head and looked at the ground in front of him. 

"You weren't supposed to...you were supposed to be safe at home," he said, struggling to keep his voice quiet. 

"Why? Because I'm not a _man_ like you are? I'm just some fragile _thing_ that gets put away when there are better things to do?"

Bucky just glared at him. Even in the dark Steve could see emotion welling in his eyes.

"So is this what you are now?" Bucky finally said. " _Captain America_? Property of the United States government? A walking recruitment poster?"

"Are you jealous, Barnes?"

"Fuck you, _Rogers_. I'm not as dumb as you. I'm here because I don't have a choice. You're here because you honestly think if you fight hard enough that evil will just disappear. It _doesn't_ , Steve. I've seen evil here. I've seen fucked up shit that you can't imagine. So, no, I'm not jealous. I don't want to be a super soldier. I don't want to be a _soldier_. I just want to do my part and get the hell out of here."

"Well I'm sure you can get discharged if you want. After what I saw—"

"You didn't see anything, believe me. And you're still the stupidest idiot in Brooklyn if you think I'm leaving without you."

Steve was thrown a little by that. "Then I guess you're staying because I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky shook his head. "End of the fucking line. That line is looking pretty short these days."

Steve watched Bucky scrub his hand over his face. He felt his anger leave him. What were they doing? They were both here, _alive_ , against all odds. 

"Buck?" He said quietly. Bucky looked up, startled by Steve's change in tone.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"Nah, I'm sorry. I'm just...it's been a fucking nightmare, Steve."

"But we're together now."

He saw Bucky's lips twitch up a bit. "Yeah. Always seems to work out that way."

"I ain't complaining."

"Me neither."

Steve threw an arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulled him in. He was able to do it so easily now. Bucky rested his head against his shoulder.

"You should get some sleep," Steve said. "Here." He gently shifted Bucky so his head rested on Steve's thigh. 

"Is this an authorized use for Captain America?" Bucky asked. "Super pillow?"

"Only in special circumstances." Steve smiled down at his friend. His enhanced vision allowed him to see quite well, even in the dark. He saw how gaunt Bucky's face was. He could feel how much weight he had lost. God, he had almost lost him...

Steve shut his eyes and willed his emotions back. He couldn't cry now. He had to focus on what was here in front of him.

He remembered something Bucky had done sometimes when Steve was particularly feverish. He wanted to sooth Bucky the same way. He tentatively touched his fingers to Bucky's hair. When Bucky didn't flinch, Steve started to gently stroke his hair. He placed his other hand on Bucky's arm and rubbed slow circles with his thumb. He heard Bucky sigh, and within minutes his breathing became slow and even. Steve smiled, glad his friend was finally getting the rest he needed. 

They stayed that way until morning. Steve didn't wake anyone else to relieve him of his post. He never felt tired. He just wanted to watch Bucky sleep, and stroke his hair. It was a few hours of total peace and contentment in the middle of horror and chaos. He had cherished every second of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at Bucky elbowing his way into the story! I'll bet he comes crashing right through the door soon!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve often fantasized about what he would say to Bucky when —when— he found him. In his most indulgent fantasies he wouldn't say anything, just stride over to him and kiss him until he couldn't breathe._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early!
> 
> There are a couple of pre-war flashbacks in here with some period-typical homophobia and some non-graphic violence (I wouldn't call it graphic, anyway). I also get a bit of Avengers action in here, like a tiny sliver, and then I'm like 'ok, that's enough.'
> 
> Things start to get a little sexy in this chapter, too, so I hope you're ok with that.

On Monday night Steve found himself in Rhodes’ apartment at Avengers HQ to watch football. Sam’s beloved Giants were taking on Rhodes’ hometown Philadelphia Eagles, so things were pretty heated. Football had never been Steve’s game, but he rooted for the Giants for old time’s sake. 

He had invited Natasha but she'd declined. Steve had noticed she seemed a little off, especially after spending such an enjoyable weekend with her. He had thought about checking in with her before heading to Rhodes’, but he thought maybe she’d seen enough of him lately.

“I’m surprised your boy can still stand after getting sacked like that!” Sam exclaimed cheerfully as the Eagles lined up near the forty yard line.

“He’s fine,” grumbled Rhodes.

“I mean, I thought after the second time he got his ass sacked, he’d be throwing all wobbly, but a _third time?_ You’re gonna be lucky if he throws the ball in the right direction!”

“I’m going to throw you in the right direction if you don’t shut up. And, oh, oh, watch this...watch it... _watch it_ …”

A perfect throw and a perfect catch, the receiver was wide open and ran it in easily for a touchdown.

"Hell yes! Right there! Sack _that_ , asshole!"

Steve laughed. Sam looked scandalized. "You're supposed to be on _my_ side, Steve!"

Steve out his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm just here for the chips, which, by the way, are almost gone." He held up the mostly empty bowl. 

"Ok, from now on it's BYO-chips," Rhodes grumbled, "I can't keep the pantry stocked for your crazy appetite."

"I brought beer," Steve pointed out.

"Yeah, and that's weird because you seem to drink it for the taste."

Steve shrugged, "I like beer."

"And he probably missed it during Prohibition," Sam teased. 

"I was a kid during Prohibition, Sam. Stop trying to make me older than I am."

It was past midnight when Steve returned to his apartment. The Eagles had won in overtime, and as Steve and Sam had walked together down the hall Sam had been grumbling about a bad call. Steve secretly thought the Eagles had won fair and square, but he had kept it to himself. 

Steve brushed his teeth and stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers. He pulled a book off the shelf of important literature he'd missed out on while he was frozen. He had done a bad job of catching up on that, too.

He had just settled into his bed to start reading when he heard the sharp rap on his door. It could only be Natasha. He quickly moved to the door, wondering if he would be told to suit up. 

What he found was Natasha in pyjama pants and a tank top holding an envelope. 

"Hey," she said. It sounded casual, but Steve could detect the anxiety beneath it. 

"Hi," he said. He held back the door and let her come in. "Something wrong?"

"No. Not wrong. Just...here." She handed him the envelope. 

Steve glanced at her as he pulled the contents of the envelope out. He looked for an indication from her of how bad this was going to be, but got nothing. She crossed her arms and looked at the floor. Steve braced himself. 

Inside was a handwritten letter, the kind Steve had been convinced people don't write anymore. It was addressed to Natasha, but it seemed she wanted him to read it, so he did.

_Natasha,_

_First, I want to apologize. I have regretted every day the way I left you. You deserve much better than that. It was selfish and disrespectful. I thought at the time I was doing what was best for you, protecting you from myself, but it still wasn't the right way to handle it._

_Your openness with me, your friendship and support, mean more to me than I can say. You helped me realize that I can wish for more from this life than simply wanting to hide myself from everyone. You are an amazing person, Natasha, and I truly wouldn't be where I am today without you._

_I hope this isn't too painful for you to hear, but I am with someone. I have been in love with Betty for most of my life, but I never thought we could be together as long as the other guy existed. I decided I had to try._

_I'm happy, Natasha, and I'm safe. I haven't had an incident since I got here. I promise you I will see you again, if you want, but I am asking you not to come looking for me. I don't want any of you to come looking for me, please. I need time away to try to make this work. I owe that to Betty._

_I hope you're happy, Natasha. If not, I hope you find happiness and peace soon. I do miss you, and I look forward to seeing you again someday. I hope you can forgive me._

_\- Bruce_

Steve looked at Natasha. "I'm so sorry," he said. 

"No," she said quickly, "don't be sorry. He's happy, he's _safe_."

"Are you sure that's enough for you?"

"It is," she said, "I've thought about this. When Bruce and I were practicing the lullaby, it was the most intimate connection I had ever felt with anyone. I had never been that open and close with anyone before. I think I panicked a little, covered it up with flirting and jokes, and...seduction. I don't know."

"He threw you?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Steve smiled, "I think the same thing happened with me and Peggy during the war. I just wanted to feel normal."

Natasha nodded, "I really care about him..."

"I really cared about Peggy. But I was in _love_ with Bucky. I know the difference now."

"You're getting better at saying that aloud," she observed, "more confident."

"Oh...yeah, I guess I just find it easy to talk to you."

She took his hand. "Good practice for when you get the chance to say it to him someday."

"Yeah," Steve said sadly, "maybe."

****

August 5, 1941, an ordinary Tuesday before America went to war, was a day that had haunted Steve his entire life. 

Steve had moved into a tiny apartment with Bucky after Steve's mother had passed the previous year. When he was feeling well enough, Steve would walk with Bucky to his job at the docks, and meet him after work to walk him home. Steve had taken whatever jobs he could, but he was never able to hold onto one for long because of his health. He had often found the days unbearably lonely while Bucky worked hard to pay for food and medicine. At night they would go out together when they could afford it. When they couldn't, they were both content to stay in and enjoy each other's company. 

They had shared a bed, which Steve never thought was necessarily strange. He had known plenty of boys who had shared beds with their brothers. Neither Steve nor Bucky had an actual brother, but they had always been sleeping over at one another's homes growing up. Besides, it’s not like they could have afforded a second bed, or an apartment that fit two beds.

He had known that they perhaps touched each other more than most male friends he knew. They had always been quick to comfort each other with a hand on a back, or a gentle touch to the arm. Bucky was often happily throwing his arm around his smaller friend. They would hug, sometimes Bucky would even kiss the top of Steve's head. Steve would pretend to hate that. 

Sometimes, at home, Bucky would sprawl out on their threadbare sofa with his feet or even his head on Steve's lap. Steve would roll his eyes, though he would secretly thrill every time. When Steve had been really sick, Bucky wouldn't leave his side. He would brush the sweaty hair from Steve's forehead with cool, calloused hands. He would talk softly and bravely about the fun they were going to get up to as soon as Steve was feeling better. He would hold Steve through his coughing fits, talk him through his asthma attacks, and wrap himself around Steve under the blankets while he shivered. Bucky had always known how to make Steve feel better. Steve had been determined to stay alive. He couldn't let Bucky down like that. 

Steve hadn't thought there was anything particularly odd about their behaviour with one another. He only knew that he had enjoyed Bucky's touch more than he ought to. That knowledge had made him uncomfortable and embarrassed at times, but not enough to distance himself from his friend at all. He couldn't. 

On August 5, 1941 Steve had met Bucky at the docks at the end of his twelve hour shift. Bucky had looked exhausted, but he still had a wide grin for Steve when he saw him. 

"You wouldn't happen to have a bottle of whiskey and a steak dinner on ya, would ya, Stevie?"

"Sorry, I gave ‘em to another guy."

"Aw, that's ok," Bucky said, throwing his arm easily around Steve, "one day you an' me are gonna have an icebox fulla steaks and a sink that has whiskey comin’ out of the taps."

Steve wrinkled his nose, "Why do you always have to put your stupid dirty arm around me? You're a mess at the end of the work day."

"Aw, you love it," Bucky said. He was right. 

They had almost made it home. 

Steve had heard them first, and grumbled "great" under his breath. George Campbell had gone to school with them, and he had always been a bully. Steve was one of his favourite targets, but usually he had waited until Bucky wasn't around. That day he seemed like he had been drinking, though. 

"Hey, look," George sneered, nudging his large friend, "it's the king and queen of Brooklyn."

"Ignore them," Steve muttered to Bucky, who had already shot the two men a menacing glare. Steve had never been one to back away from a fight, but he had known how tired Bucky was and he had really just wanted to get home. 

"Don't gotta guess which one the dame is," George said, louder this time. He wanted a fight. 

Bucky gave it to him. 

"You got something to say, asshole?" Bucky seethed, storming toward the two men.

George, who definitely was out of his mind, or had a death wish, had stepped close to Bucky and snarled "Don't like fairies in my neighborhood. Think it's time someone taught you and your girlfriend a lesson." He punctuated his sentence by flicking his cigarette butt in Bucky's face. 

"Shit," Steve breathed. Before he could react further Bucky had grabbed George with both hands by his shirt, head butted him square in the nose, and threw him into the nearby alleyway. 

Steve had supposed he should be readying himself against an attack from George's friend, but all he could do was stare, frozen, at the scene in the alley. Fortunately, the other man had also seemed too stunned to make a move toward Steve. 

Steve hadn't even been able to see George anymore. Bucky had him on the ground and was looming over him, legs and arms swinging furiously. Steve couldn't see George, but he could hear the anguished sounds he was making between the sickening sounds of Bucky's fists and boots slamming into him. Then George had stopped making sounds altogether. 

"Who the fuck are you calling a fairy, you son of a bitch?! Who are you calling a fairy?!" Bucky had kept yelling at the lifeless body as he pounded his fist into him over and over. Finally, Steve snapped out of his state of frozen horror and had run over to intervene. 

"Bucky! Buck! Stop! You gotta stop! Look at him, Bucky." Steve grabbed his friend's arm. For a second Steve had thought Bucky might hit him, when he turned his wild eyes on him. But his expression softened immediately when he saw Steve. 

"Please, Bucky. We gotta get out of here, ok?"

Steve had taken a moment to make sure that George was —thank God— still breathing before leading Bucky away. 

They had been silent the rest of the way home, Steve too stunned to speak, and Bucky breathing heavily, still charged with adrenaline. When they had gotten inside their apartment, Steve instructed Bucky to sit on the bed. Steve filled a bowl with water and grabbed a washcloth. He pulled one of the rickety chairs from their small table over to the bed so he could sit in front of Bucky. It was a weird reversal of roles. He had taken Bucky's right hand in his smaller ones and gently wiped the blood away. Bucky's knuckles were split open and swollen. Bucky could have easily cleaned his hands up himself, but Steve had been glad he let him do it for him.

"You alright?" Steve asked, finally breaking the silence between them. 

Bucky huffed a breath out. "Yeah. Sure."

"That was pretty brutal, Buck."

"Yeah, well, he had it coming."

Steve didn't reply. Just kept cleaning Bucky's hand. 

"I couldn't just let him...say those things. About us."

Steve had felt his insides twist a bit. If he hadn't been sure before about the limitations of his relationship with Bucky, he knew them now. Clear as a damn bell. 

"Shouldn't let it bother you so much," Steve said, "You know it isn't true. What's it matter?"

"Don't like hearing anyone calling you a dame. You're twice the man he'll ever be."

Steve's heart had swelled. He covered the surge of emotion with a smirk and a small shrug.

"I'm way out of your league anyway," he joked. 

Bucky laughed. "Don't I know it."

The memory of the vicious beating Bucky had dealt George Campbell was eventually eclipsed in Steve's memory by the violence of war. What never left him was the trigger that had made Bucky go off like that. For a long time after, Steve took the ordeal as proof that Bucky would be disgusted and angry if Steve ever acted on his urges to kiss him. That Bucky definitely didn't see Steve as anything more than a friend. A very close friend, certainly, but that's where it ended. 

It wasn't until they were fighting together in Europe, sleeping pressed against each other most nights and falling back into an easy closeness that had always been the most natural thing, that Steve started to develop another theory. Steve didn't want to consider it, because he knew he was only torturing himself, but maybe _maybe_ Bucky had been protesting too much when he beat George mercilessly. Maybe he had been so angry because George hadn't been far off. 

Steve had gotten close to formulating a plan to test that theory. He was too chicken to just ask Bucky straight up, but he thought maybe he could drop some hints, test the waters. 

He never got to out his plan into action. Trains and planes got in the way, putting a seventy year hiatus on their relationship. 

****

Steve's phone rang the next morning as he was putting on his uniform. 

"Good morning, Captain!"

"Stark."

"Quick question: when are you and Romanoff going to invite me to your love shack?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't play coy with me, Cap, I heard about your romantic weekend getaways."

"They're not...we're not..."

"Hey, I'm not judging. I think it's about time you two-"

"Tony! Listen to me. Natasha and I are _just friends_."

There was a rare moment of silence from Tony, then, "Well colour me disappointed. And also, _seriously_ , Rogers? If she's not your type then who the hell-"

"Enough. Please."

"Rhodey really seemed to think..."

"Well, he was wrong. And maybe I'll have to talk to _Rhodey_ about spreading gossip."

"Oh, don't blame him. I forced it out of him."

"I absolutely believe that."

"How is everything?" Tony asked, abruptly changing the subject, "How's...Avengering?"

Steve relaxed a bit. Tony was calling because he missed him. 

"It's been going well, Tony. You're welcome to come visit anytime."

"Well that's generous of you."

Steve rolled his eyes. "We'd be happy to have you back, Tony."

"Still not over me, huh? That's just sad, Rogers. I'm afraid that I am staying retired, though. Pepper and I are on our honeymoon."

"You got _married?_ "

"Nah, we skipped right to the honeymoon. Marriage is so...ordinary. Who needs it? Pepper knows how I feel."

Steve couldn't help smiling. "You're a lucky man, Stark." He was teasing, but he hoped Tony realized how lucky he was. Just to be able to be with the person you loved, and have them love you back. It's no small thing. 

"I wasn't kidding about that invitation, Cap. Just tell me when and I'll be there, fern in hand. Or hot tub in hand. You guys need a hot tub?"

"We're good," Steve said, though inwardly he considered how nice a hot tub would be on that deck. 

"Oh, and, uh, tell Romanoff to ignore the card that came with the flowers, ok?"

"What flowers? What _card?_ "

"Gotta go. Pepper is making me do a sunrise hike. Send me the invite."

With that, Tony ended the call and Steve was left staring at his phone. He shook his head and fastened the leather harness for his shield. The uniform had been improved several times over, but it was still an ordeal to put on.

He heard a knock at his door. He opened it to find Natasha, in uniform, holding a small card. One eyebrow was raised. Her face clearly said "seriously?" as she handed Steve the card. 

_Congratulations on taking the old man's virginity. Glad to know he's in good hands. I hope he chills out now (pun intended). xoxo Tony_

"You been telling Tony things I should know about?" she asked.

"No! No! Natasha, I would never-"

"Relax, Rogers. I know. Tony is an ass."

Steve breathed a sigh of relief. 

"Let's get to work," Natasha said, "I'll deal with Tony later."

****  
On Friday the team had an actual mission. 

Turns out there is a guy who is really named _Doctor Doom_ , and that guy is the leader of an Eastern European country. 

"No one thought it might be a bad idea to elect someone named Doctor Doom?" Steve asked as he dodged a blast from a, yes, Doombot.

"He wasn't elected, Steve," Natasha said over the com.

"Victor Von Doom assumed control of Latveria by force in 2004," Vision supplied. 

" _Victor Von Doom?_ " Steve asked. "Seriously?"

The attack was on Roxxon Oil Corporation's building in Denver, of all places. Evidently, they had something that Doom wanted. 

Since Steve had missed out on a few decades, he hadn’t been too surprised to find himself fighting aliens and robots on a semi-regular basis in the twenty-first century. He had been kind of surprised to learn that the invading aliens and robot armies were actually new to everyone on Earth, despite what the old science fiction pulps that Bucky used to read to him would have led him to believe. So he wasn’t the only one who was weirded out, which was nice.

What he _did_ know was that robots were fun to fight. Since they weren’t alive, he didn’t have to hold back, and they broke apart under his shield in a really satisfying way. Sometimes he would play a secret game with himself where he would see how many robots he could destroy with one throw, and then try to break that record. War Machine could take out about a dozen of them with one press of a button or whatever, but Steve preferred the up-close-and-personal approach.

Robots generally did not stand much of a chance against the current Avengers team. The more important part of this mission was removing civilians from the area, and minimizing collateral damage. 

“Is Doctor Doom actually here somewhere?” Steve asked, “Because I would love to punch him in the face for ruining my Friday plans.”

“Get in line,” said Rhodes, over the com, “and no, he’s not. He tends to send in the bots while he sits back on his throne.”

“I hate robots,” Sam grumbled, “Uh, no offense, Vision.”

“I do not identify as a robot, Falcon.”

“Cool.”

‘I’m not seeing any more bots,” Steve said, “Falcon, War Machine, Vision? You see anything from up there?”

“Negative, Cap. All clear on the east side,” Rhodes said.

“All clear on the west, Cap,” Sam reported.

“I have scanned the area within a ten-mile radius. There are no functional Doombots remaining,” said Vision, calmly reminding everyone that he was the only surveillance they needed.

“Ok, then. Good work, team. Widow, you hear anything from HQ about what Doom was after? Do we need to go into Roxxon?”

“Nope. Nothing that HQ is concerned about.”

“Oh. Alright. I guess...we’re done?”

“Looks like it.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t…”

“Cap, are you _disappointed_ that this wasn’t harder?” Natasha asked, amused.

“No, I just...I mean, no. Not exactly.”

“Get in the plane, Steve. I’ll let you spar with me when we get back if you want a challenge,” she said.

Steve was sure he heard Rhodes mutter “ _Damn_ ,” over the com.

****

The next time they went to the "safe house," Steve invited Sam. Rhodes was going to visit his girlfriend, Carol, at an airbase in California that weekend. 

If Steve knew anything about Sam, it was that he definitely had a thing for Natasha. Sam never mentioned it, and he probably had no intention of ever acting on it, but Steve saw it every day. He didn't want to push anything, but if Nat could set Steve up on endless dates, Steve could certainly encourage two of his best friends to spend more time together. 

His first move was to suggest Nat and Sam drive up together because he felt like taking his motorcycle. Nothing suspicious about that, and Sam eagerly agreed to the idea. 

Steve waited two hours after they left before heading there. May as well give them a little time. Even if nothing ever happened between them, he felt it would maybe be good for Nat to spend a little less time alone with Steve. The rumours were getting a bit intense. And he honestly did want to take his bike up. It was now well into October and the fall colours were in full effect. 

When Steve arrived the sun was very low in the sky. He saw Sam and Nat standing on the deck. Sam was gesturing toward something in the yard, and Natasha was smiling. Steve approached them cheerfully. It really did put him in a good mood, thinking about the possibility of them getting together. 

"Hey, Steve. Sam is going to help me plant an herb garden in the spring," Natasha said happily. 

"I grew herbs in my place in D.C.," Sam explained, "I've never had a proper garden, but I think I have a green thumb."

"Hey, that's great!" Steve said, way too enthusiastically. He grimaced inwardly and pledged to play things a lot cooler for the rest of the weekend. 

"Sure..." Sam said, shooting Steve a weird look, "I offered to make dinner tomorrow night because I am an amazing chef. And I know you can't cook for shit."

"He's getting better," Nat said, "he made mashed potatoes last time we were here and they were not terrible."

"Those potatoes were incredible and you know it, Widow."

"They were," she agreed. 

Because they all had arrived late in the day, they enjoyed a lazy dinner of sandwiches and potato chips accompanied by the usual beer. The nights were now chilly enough that Natasha started a fire in the small wood stove in the corner of the living room. They played cards at the kitchen table, joking and laughing until well past midnight. Sam played music from his phone on some sort of portable speaker that he had brought with him (housewarming gift, he had said). 

Steve realized, sitting at the table, how much he loved this house. How much he had needed it. Sitting here with Sam and Nat, far from their Avengers responsibilities, he actually felt relaxed. Happy, even. It was enough to let him forget about the gaping hole inside him for awhile. 

When they tired of cards the three of them retired to the living room. Steve strategically let Sam and Nat share the couch while he sat in one of the (uncomfortable) wooden chairs facing them. It wasn't long before Steve moved himself to the floor instead. 

"What was the last movie you saw back in the day?" Sam asked Steve.

"Um, _Casablanca_ , I think? I think that was probably it. I saw it alone. Good movie, though."

Sam laughed. "Yeah, it's not bad. Man, sometimes I forget. We all think about you fighting in the war but I keep forgetting that you were alive for the best parts of the thirties and forties too!"

Steve shrugged. "I went to the movies a lot. As much as I could afford, anyway."

"What else did you see? _Citizen Kane_? _The Wizard of Oz_?"

" _Gone With the Wind?_ " Natasha asked. 

"Of course. Those movies were pretty big deals. And as you guys are always so kind to point out, there wasn't that much else to do, right?"

"Crazy," Sam said, shaking his head. 

"Did you swing dance?" Natasha asked, eyebrow raised. 

"No, I didn't. I think you guys keep forgetting that I wasn’t built like this during most of those years," then he added with a wistful smile, "Bucky did, though. He loved to dance."

"Ladies man?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Steve said distantly, "I know it might be hard to imagine, but yeah. He was a real charmer."

Nat probably sensed that Steve was getting sad, so she abruptly changed the subject. 

"We should get some board games for this place."

"Like what?" Steve asked, grateful for the new topic of discussion.

"Nothing with drawing," Sam said, "Rogers has an unfair advantage."

"Fine, then nothing with pop culture trivia either," Steve shot back. 

"Or anything that involves bluffing," Natasha said with a pointed look at Steve. 

"I'm not going to be offended because you think I'm a bad liar. Maybe I'm proud of that."

"I honestly have no idea how you've stayed alive this long," she said. 

"Muscles and ice, mostly," Steve replied. He kept a straight face, but the shocked and gleeful expressions on his friends' faces had him laughing along with them. 

"To muscles and ice," Sam said, raising his beer bottle. Steve tipped his bottle toward Sam and took a sip. 

****

Steve hadn't slept particularly well since he woke from the ice. He was plagued by nightmares, but even without those he was often restless. He had difficulty shutting his mind off, which wasn't surprising considering how overwhelming his life was. He would be charged with adrenaline after missions, and when he had downtime his mind would race with questions he needed to ask, things he needed to look up, things he saw that he didn't understand or couldn't believe. He was only now starting to feel at all comfortable in this century. 

Steve lay awake for hours after Sam and Natasha had decided to call it a night. He was so grateful to have them as friends, but his mind wandered to the one thing he was supposed to be forgetting about. 

Bucky was out there somewhere. 

No matter what Steve was doing, what he was talking about, underneath he was always worrying about Bucky. It was better, he reminded himself, than constantly mourning Bucky, as he had been before. 

There were many things that Steve worried about when it came to Bucky. The first was that he had been captured by Hydra again, or, worse still, had voluntarily returned to them. When Steve thinks of this, he imagines busting down the door of a Hydra facility, killing everyone in the room, grabbing Bucky and taking him somewhere Hydra will never get him again. 

The second scenario Steve worried about was that Bucky was out there somewhere, alone and cold with no memory of who he is. He made himself sick picturing Bucky slowly starving to death, maybe not even knowing how to feed himself. Steve would think about finding him, maybe in an alley in Brooklyn not far from where they grew up, and bringing him home. He would fix him, take care of him like Bucky used to take care of Steve. He would get his new friends to help in any way they could. 

The third scenario was that Bucky _did_ have his memories back, all of them, but was too ashamed and scared to come to Steve. Steve never could envision a clear plan of action for this. He would just think about what he would say to convince him he had nothing to be ashamed of. 

Steve often fantasized about what he would say to Bucky when — _when_ — he found him. In his most indulgent fantasies he wouldn't say anything, just stride over to him and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. He would be sure, in these invented realities, that it was what Bucky wanted. It would be the reason he had returned to him. 

On nights like this one, when sleep wasn't an option, Steve would often take out a sketchbook and start drawing. He couldn't possibly guess how many times he had drawn Bucky in his life. Even the decades on ice hadn't taken away his ability to draw his friend from memory. Tonight Steve turned to a fresh page and began to draw a scene he had been thinking about since he had mentioned Bucky's love of dancing to Sam and Natasha earlier. 

It had been the summer of 1940, July sometime maybe, and muggy as all hell in Brooklyn, even after the sun had set. Steve had been standing against the wall of a dingy, sweaty dance hall, swallowing the dregs of the last beer he could afford that night. He remembered feeling tired, hot, and bored. His eyes had scanned the turbulent sea of dancers that filled the floor, searching for his friend so he could tell him he was leaving. 

He spotted him, and it was like the sea had parted. Like the room had emptied out except for Bucky. 

Steve saw Bucky, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, jacket abandoned, top three shirt buttons undone to reveal damp, summer-golden skin. The slicked back hair that Steve had watched Bucky meticulously assemble earlier that evening was now completely disheveled, falling in long strands that curled a bit in the heat around his glistening face. 

Steve watched, heart in his throat, as Bucky spun the girl he was with away from him, her skirt flaring out around her daringly, before he quickly pulled her back and held her close against him. He leaned down and said something directly into her ear that made her throw her head back and laugh, and then he pressed his lips against her throat. When she looked back at him with mock admonishment, he hoisted her up over his head and flipped her upside down. She looked delighted. And Bucky looked...

God, Bucky was a thing of beauty.

Steve had never lacked confidence in most things, despite his size, but when it came to women he was hopeless. What Steve lacked, Bucky had in spades. Bucky oozed charm, and had a natural swagger that bordered on filthy when he wanted it to. Or maybe he didn't even realize how inherently sexual he was. When it was turned on all the way, Steve couldn't look away. 

When the song ended, Bucky gave his partner a chaste kiss on her hand, but the eye contact he made with her was anything but. Steve rolled his own eyes and looked at the floor. Maybe he could just leave without telling Bucky. He'd figure it out. 

He was just about to do that when Bucky threw himself against the wall beside him. He was holding two cold beers and handed one to Steve. 

"You don't need to buy me drinks," Steve grumbled, but he was already taking his first sip, grateful for the cool liquid. 

He glanced up at Bucky, who had his head thrown back against the wall, eyes closed, chest heaving a bit as he worked to catch his breath. Bucky pressed his own cold bottle against his cheeks and forehead before wrapping his lips around the bottle and taking a long, slow pull. Steve watched his sweat-slicked throat work as he swallowed the drink down, and then stared helplessly at the look of total bliss that took over Bucky's face after. He watched a drop of sweat roll from behind his ear down his neck, onto his chest.

_Jesus Christ._

Steve had known he had to get out of there. As much as he could stare at Bucky like this all night, he did not want to be standing against the wall of a dance club with a hard-on and no girl. He finished the beer as quickly as possible, which, maybe that was a little too fast and maybe he didn't need that extra beer, and pushed himself off the wall. 

Bucky had tried to stop him, but Steve had been determined to leave. He hadn't even looked back, just walked out the door and straight home, where he had promptly jerked off to memories of Bucky's flushed, blissful face and exposed throat.

That image of Bucky was exactly what Steve was drawing now. He was surprised at how accurately he was still able to capture it. When he was finished he blushed at how obscene the drawing looked, though there was nothing explicit about it. It was enough to leave him unbearably aroused and forced to accept the inevitable. He took care of himself quickly and roughly, biting his hand to muffle any sound. 

When he was finished he snorted into the dark room, instantly embarrassed and frustrated with himself. _Some things never change._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky returns in the next chapter, I promise! Like, right away, too! Enough with the no Bucky! I'm going to try to post it early since not a whole lot happened in this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I'm tired," Bucky said in the smallest voice Steve had ever heard from him, "I just want to stop."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this chapter early because I am going to be away on Thursday.
> 
> Here comes Bucky! Also in this chapter: Steve says 'please.' A lot.

The next morning Natasha announced that she and Sam were heading to the local farm market to pick up groceries for dinner. Steve was glad they had found something to do alone together without him having to come up with an awkward excuse to separate himself. 

Steve did a few chores around the house before settling into one of the Adirondack chairs in the yard. He happily spent an hour or so sketching in his book. He was concentrating on getting the details of Sam's face right from when he had been sharing a joke earlier with Natasha. He was so focused that he didn't notice he was no longer alone. 

Steve didn't startle easily, but when he looked up and saw the man standing a few yards away from him, completely still and silent, he nearly jumped out of his chair. 

"Bucky!"

Steve dropped the sketchbook and stood. Everything seemed to be in slow motion. He worried that he was hallucinating. He worried that, if this was real, he would do or say something to make Bucky disappear again. He felt his heart hammering in his chest.

"Bucky," he said again, a whisper. He looked at the man in front of him. His hair was long and straggly, his clothes were dirty and worn. His eyes, _Bucky's eyes_ , sat atop dark circles. He didn't look well, but he was _here_. 

Steve could see him flexing and relaxing his left hand, the metal hand, which was gloved. It occurred to Steve that he should maybe be concerned for his own safety. As much as he hated to consider it, Bucky may be here to complete his mission. 

Steve held out a hand. 

"Bucky, it's ok. You're safe with me."

Bucky just stood there, staring. Steve wanted to close the distance between them desperately, but he didn't dare move. He waited until Bucky finally spoke. 

"You were smaller," is all he said. His voice was rough. Steve wondered how much he had used it in the past year. In the past seventy years. 

Steve was stunned.

"Yeah...yeah, Bucky, I was!"

The other man seemed to consider Steve's answer, then nodded. 

"Ok. Good," he said in a low voice, more to himself than to Steve. 

"Bucky, are you...are you ok? Can you stay? _Please_ stay." The desperation in Steve's voice was obvious. He didn't care. Bucky was finally here, in front of him, and he _had_ to make him stay. 

Bucky glanced over his shoulder for a split second before saying, "The others will be back soon."

"It's ok, Bucky! They're my friends. They won't hurt you. Please, we've been looking for you."

"I know."

"Then please, stay. You know we want to help you."

Steve watched his friend's face. He didn't seem as vacant as he had when Steve had fought him on the helicarrier. He seemed very unsure and skittish. Steve felt like a deer or a butterfly was in front of him, and one wrong move would frighten Bucky away. He had to think fast.

"Do you remember? When I was smaller?"

"I...I don't know. Maybe. Something."

Steve's throat was tight. He tried to remain calm and in control of the situation, but he was losing ground fast. "Bucky, don't...don't leave me again. I can't...I need you with me, please. We can get through this together. Whatever you need, I know people who can-"

"No."

"Fine, fine. No people. Just us. Anything you want, just please don't leave."

To Steve's horror, Bucky grabbed his own head with both hands and winced in pain. He let out an agonized, strangled sound as if he was suppressing a scream as he fell to his knees. 

Steve couldn't stop himself now. He ran to his friend, closing the distance between them. He didn't think, he just dropped to his knees and placed his hands on Bucky's shoulders. 

"What is it? Bucky, please, are you hurt?"

The pain seemed to subside. Bucky lowered his hands from the sides of his head and looked at Steve. Any thoughts Steve had of Bucky trying to harm him left when Steve saw the pleading look Bucky gave him. 

"I'm tired," Bucky said in the smallest voice Steve had ever heard from him, "I just want to stop."

Steve wrapped his arms around his friend and pulled him into his chest. He felt Bucky tense up, almost resisting, before relaxing slightly against him. He stayed very still and silent as Steve held him. Steve said his name in between promises like "you're safe now," "it's going to be ok," and "I'm here. We're together now."

They stood eventually, and Steve guided Bucky into the house. 

"Are you hungry? Have you eaten anything...lately."

"I'm just...tired."

"Ok, there's a bed upstairs, alright?"

Bucky didn't respond, but he did follow Steve up the stairs. Steve was trying hard not to let his giddy excitement show. 

They entered Steve's room and Bucky looked to Steve, his eyes silently asking if he could lie down. Steve nodded "Yes, yeah, Bucky. You can rest here. It's ok. You're safe here. As long as you want."

Bucky sat on the bed and then lay on his side, curled facing where Steve stood in front of the door. He didn't remove any clothing, not even his boots, but he fell asleep instantly. 

Steve sat on the floor, his back against the wall, and watched his friend sleep. 

****

Sam and Natasha returned about half an hour later. Steve was reluctant to take his eyes off Bucky, but he knew he needed to go downstairs and explain the situation. 

"Hey guys. I have some news."

Sam and Natasha both turned to where Steve was standing at the bottom of the stairs. They had been joking with each other about something, but now they were serious and giving Steve their full attention.

"What's the situation?" Nat asked. 

"He's here. He found me."

Natasha's face softened, "I knew it," she whispered. 

"We're talking about Barnes?" Sam asked. "He's _here_? Where?"

"Upstairs. He's asleep, actually. He was...very tired."

"Was he talking? Does he remember you?" Natasha asked. 

"A little. He didn't say much. I don't know how much he remembers but...he found me, Nat!"

She crossed the room and embraced him. "I'm happy for you, Steve."

"Thank you," Steve said softly, "for everything. You made this happen."

Natasha shrugged. "Bucky made the decision on his own. I was just working a hunch."

"I don't want to ruin the celebrations," Sam said, "but is he...stable?"

"He's, uh, he's disoriented, I think. Exhausted, for sure. I'm not sure how his health is yet, but if you mean..."

"Does he seem... _dangerous_?" Sam asked carefully. It was a fair question. Bucky had tried to kill all of them at least a couple of times each.

"I don't think so. I mean, I don't think he's...the Soldier. I don't think he's going back to that." There was so much hope in Steve's voice. 

Sam nodded. "Then I'm happy for you, too, Steve. And I'll be here to help when he wakes up."

"Thank you. Both of you." Steve glanced up the stairs. "I'm going to go back up and check on him." _I'm going to make sure he's still there._

"Ok. Let us know if you need anything," Sam said. 

****

Bucky stayed asleep for the rest of that day and through the night. Steve never left him. 

He desperately wanted to lay in bed next to him but didn't want to wake him or scare him off. They used to share a bed in their tiny one room apartment in Brooklyn. During the war they would often curl together for warmth in tents or under the open sky. There was a big difference in the way they fit together, pre and post serum, but it had always been comfortable. He had always slept better with Bucky. 

Now he stayed awake, seated on the floor, maintaining a constant vigil. He couldn't stop looking at Bucky. He prayed that, when he work up, he would be coherent, that he would remember Steve. He knew not to expect his friend to be back exactly, but he would take anything he could get.

Bucky was alive. Bucky was _here._

As he watched him sleep, Steve was overcome with the same heady combination of emotions he'd felt when he had read the Winter Soldier file. Excitement, happiness, and delight that Bucky was actually _alive_ , mixed with the nauseating horror of what he had been turned into. This _was_ James Buchanan Barnes lying in front of him, no question, but he was almost unrecognizable. 

If Bucky had died when he had fallen from the train, as Steve had been sure he had, he would have died serving his country. Yes, Steve would have had to live the rest of his own seemingly endless life with his heart torn out, but at least he would know Bucky had given his life for a greater purpose. But the truth was so much more twisted, so much sicker. What those Hydra bastards had done to Bucky, had put him through...

But if they hadn't, then Bucky wouldn't be here now. Steve hates himself for it, but he can't honestly say he's not a little bit grateful for how things happened. All he can focus on is that it is 2015 and Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes are together again.

At some point Steve must have nodded off, head tipped back against the wall, because he snapped awake when he heard movement on the bed. 

He saw ice blue eyes staring at him.

"Bucky!"

"Hi."

It was a simple word, nothing really, but it was so _human_ that Steve's heart caught in his throat. 

"Hi," he said back.

He watched Bucky pull himself up to a sitting position on the bed. 

"How do you feel?" Steve asked.

Bucky frowned. "Not sure how to answer that."

"I just mean...did the sleep help at all?"

"Oh. Yes. I think so."

"Good. You can keep resting, if you want."

"If I want."

"Yeah, or if you're hungry..."

Bucky nodded. "Hungry. Yeah, I'm hungry. And I need...is there a bathroom?"

Steve stood quickly. "Yes! Of course, just this way."

Bucky followed Steve into the hall. Steve pointed him in the direction of the bathroom. 

"Just in there. Do you want to take a shower? I can get you a towel."

"Um..."

"If you want. It's just...maybe a shower and some clean clothes will help you feel better?"

"Yeah. I should probably do that. Sorry."

Steve wasn't sure why Bucky was apologizing. He quickly grabbed a towel and handed it to him. He showed him how the faucet worked, in case he wasn't sure, and pointed out the soap and shampoo. He said he would ask Nat if they had any extra toothbrushes. He left Bucky to it, and went downstairs to see what the breakfast situation was. 

Sam and Natasha were already awake and Sam was cheerfully making pancakes.

"Can you make a few extras?" Steve asked, unable to keep a smile off his face, "Bucky's awake and he's hungry."

"Way ahead of you," Sam smiled, "how is he this morning?"

"He seems...good. Definitely disoriented, but better than I was expecting."

"Do you want us to disappear?" Natasha asked. 

"Oh! No, you don't have to. I mean, he knows you're here." Something suddenly occurred to Steve. "He's going to need clothes! I have to find some clothes for him. And, right! Do we have extra toothbrushes, Nat?"

"Yes," Natasha said, her calm voice contrasting Steve's increasingly excited babbling, "in the top drawer in the bathroom under the sink."

"Thanks, I'm gonna find him some clothes. I'll be back for the pancakes." Steve disappeared up the stairs so fast he didn't hear Sam saying, "Barnes is definitely up there, right? No chance the Captain has lost his marbles, right?"

Steve also didn't see Natasha punching Sam's arm, or the way Sam smiled to himself. 

****

Steve knocked lightly on the bathroom door. 

"Bucky?"

No answer. Steve knocked again.

"You ok in there, Bucky?"

The door opened suddenly. Bucky stood there, wet, naked, not at all modest. 

"Um," Steve stammered, trying to focus on the wall behind Bucky, "I can get you a toothbrush if you want. And I have clothes for you in the other room."

His eyes drifted back to Bucky's chest and shoulders. At first he couldn't stop staring at the scar tissue where metal met flesh. It took all his control to keep from wincing. All of the horrors Steve had read in the file about the creation of the Winter Soldier came flooding into his head. 

"There's, uh, there's breakfast downstairs. Did you want to come down? Sam and Natasha are..."

"No."

"I could bring some food up here if you'd rather..."

"Ok."

Steve moved past Bucky, who stepped back slightly to let Steve into the bathroom. Steve tried very hard not to look at Bucky's naked body, even when he brushed his chest with his shoulder as he passed. He fumbled with the drawer and retrieved a toothbrush, which he handed to Bucky without looking at him. 

"Alright, I'll just...clothes are on the bed...I'll bring some food upstairs. Uh, soon. In a minute. I'll be right back. You can...there's toothpaste there. I'll just...ok."

He glanced at Bucky's face when he finished his awkward rambling and he could swear he was smirking at him a bit. Steve ducked his head and pushed past him before darting down the stairs. 

"He isn't quite ready to...he would like me to bring food up to him," Steve said, somewhat apologetically, although he knew Sam and Nat wouldn't be offended. He saw Sam give Nat a look that made her mouth twitch up. He wasn't sure what that was about. 

"I figured that might be the case," Sam said, "so I made a plate for him. Are you ok, Steve?"

"Me? Yeah...yeah. I'm great, actually, I'm just so glad he's here. I kind of can't believe it."

"Sam and I are going to head back to HQ this afternoon. Take as long as you need," Natasha said, "and if you need us, or anything at all, you call us."

Steve looked at his two extraordinary friends and felt a surge of emotion. He blinked rapidly. "Thank you. I can't tell you guys-"

"Then don't," Nat said, waving a hand, "not necessary."

"Yeah, man. Happy to help," Sam agreed.

Steve grabbed the tray Sam had prepared with two plates of pancakes and bacon, glasses of orange juice and two mugs of coffee. 

When Steve was safely up the stairs Sam turned to Natasha and said, "You sure we shouldn't maybe try to get eyes on Barnes before we leave? I'm not saying Steve's making this up, I'm just saying it's a possibility."

"Stop it," Natasha said.

"I'm just saying it could be a long con to get two helpings of my pancakes."

Natasha actually laughed at that. Sam inwardly congratulated himself. 

****

There wasn't anywhere to comfortably eat pancakes in the bedroom, so the two men ended up on the floor. Steve had his back to the bed, Bucky had his to the wall, facing Steve. He had put on the clothes Steve had left out for him: a plain white t-shirt, charcoal sweatpants and a navy zip-up hoodie. His hair was still damp and hanging limp to his shoulders. He had his boots back on. He hadn't said a word since Steve returned with their breakfast, just took the food and consumed it quickly. Steve wondered when the last time he had eaten was. 

"Good?" Steve asked, unable to endure the silence anymore. 

Bucky nodded. Steve didn't expect him to elaborate, so he was surprised when he said, "I've gotten better. At eating."

"Better?"

"It was...difficult. At first. I hadn't had food..."

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat. Those fucking monsters. 

"How did you...?"

"They fed me nutrients with tubes. Injections. Pills sometimes. Nothing solid."

"God, Bucky."

"I couldn't eat at first. I tried, I...couldn't. I worked my way up to solids, slowly. It took a long time, but I can eat now," Steve could hear a trace of pride in Bucky's voice. 

"That's great, Bucky! I'm glad you were able to do that."

Bucky looked pleased, and maybe a little relieved, at Steve's words. Like he had been hoping for praise. Steve decided to ignore how disturbing that was. For now.

“I, uh, I read a lot. At libraries,” Bucky continued.

“What did you read about?”

“Us,” Bucky said. Steve swallowed. 

“What did you learn?”

“I started to remember. Some things. At first it was like reading a history book for school. Like I was studying for a test. Then I would read something that would make me remember something. Like a light being turned on. A tiny one.”

Steve held his breath. How much did Bucky remember?

“I kept reading, and more lights kept coming on. I would walk around Brooklyn, and more lights. I saw you on television, fighting with your team, and more lights went on.”

“Bucky, are you saying-”

Bucky shook his head. “I’m not...back, or whatever you are hoping for. But...I would like to be.” He shrugged. “That’s new.”

Steve grinned widely, “Bucky, you have no idea-”

“I might not be able to...I don’t know if I can be who you want me to be.”

“Bucky, I don’t want you to be anyone. I just want to help you.”

Bucky nodded. “I was hoping, if you wanted, that I could...stay? Near you? I think it will help.”

Steve was speechless. He wanted to throw himself around Bucky and hold him as tight as possible. For now he gaped at him, mouth open, eyes threatening to fill with water.

“If you want,” Bucky repeated, “I know I...I know you can’t trust me.”

“Bucky, no!” Steve said quickly, “I trust you. I will always...I want you to stay. More than anything. I can’t even tell you…” Steve wiped a tear that had, as expected, emerged from his eye, “Just, please stay. I...God, I missed you so much, Bucky.”

“I think...I probably missed you too?”

Steve laughed but it was more of a sob. He stood up. “Can I hug you, Bucky? Would that be ok? I just really...I kind of can’t believe you’re really here.”

Bucky hesitated, then nodded slightly before standing as well. Steve had meant to be very gentle and careful, but he ended up almost lunging at Bucky, throwing his arms around him and pressing his forehead into his friend’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” Steve murmured, “we’re both here.”

Bucky slowly raised his hands and placed them gently on Steve’s back. He said nothing. 

****  
Bucky and Steve stayed in the upstairs bedroom for another hour, until Steve got a message on his phone from Natasha. 

_We decided to leave early. We took your bike and left the SUV in case you need it._

Steve knew Sam was probably pretty pleased with that plan. 

_Let me know if you need anything. Good luck. xo_

"Sam and Natasha are gone, if you want to go downstairs. It's just us here," Steve said from where he was sitting on the bed. Bucky hadn't left the floor. 

"For how long?"

"As long as you need, Bucky."

"That might be a long time."

"I'm right here, as long as you need me. I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky looked like he couldn't understand what Steve was saying. His brow was furrowed and he seemed to be chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

"Is there more food?" He asked finally.

Steve smiled. "Yeah, come on." He extended his hand toward Bucky without really thinking about it. Bucky stared at it, not making any moves to accept it. Steve awkwardly returned his hand to his side. "Um, just, follow me."

They went downstairs. "What is this place?" Bucky asked, "You live here?"

"Sometimes," Steve said, "it's a house that Natasha owns. It's just a nice quiet place that we can go if we want to escape things for a bit."

"Escape?"

"Yeah, like...I don't know how much you know about my life now. About what I do."

Bucky stood in front of the window, looking toward the lake. He kept glancing nervously over his shoulder at Steve, so Steve moved beside him. 

"I saw on TV," Bucky said, "when the robots were attacking. In Europe. I couldn't see you but the TV said you were there. Fighting."

"Yeah, I was."

"You saved a lot of people. Was that your mission? Are you...do you have handlers?"

The frigid water of the lake could not have been colder than the chill that ran through Steve. 

"No, Bucky, I don't have handlers. People...don't. I work with a team. It's my choice to work with them."

"I'm sorry. I know that, I think, I just-" Steve saw Bucky wince and press his flesh hand to his temple.

"Bucky? Are you ok?"

"Yes, functional. Sorry. Fine."

"Your head is bothering you?" 

"Yeah," He lowered his hand from the side of his head, pain apparently over. "It's been a little...rough. Waking up. Leaving...what I was. Being alive. Everything is strange and bright and _loud_."

"Tell me about it," Steve said, offering a small smile, "that's why I like this place. It could almost have existed as is back in our day. I think Natasha thought of that when she bought it."

"Natasha. She's...your girl?" Bucky asked stiffly.

 _Et tu, Bucky?_ "No! No. She's a friend. A very good friend. And my teammate, but that's all. We're not...involved."

"Ok."

"Hey," Steve said, suddenly uncomfortable, "let's check on the food situation." He moved to the kitchen, hoping there was something left for them to eat. He found a note on the counter from Sam.

_You missed out on a hell of a meal last night. Since we weren't feeding any super soldiers, there are leftovers. You're welcome. - Sam_

"There's some food here from last night," Steve called to Bucky as he pulled the foil-wrapped plates out of the fridge, "some...um, looks like pork roast? With apples? Squash maybe? I could maybe heat it up in the oven...um...somehow?"

"S'ok," Bucky said, already sitting at the table. Steve hadn't seen him move from the window, "cold is fine."

They ate cold leftovers together at the small kitchen table. Even without being heated the food was delicious. They didn't talk while they ate, but Steve was struck by how comfortable he felt. The scene was almost hilariously domestic, considering who they both were. What they had both been through. Bucky was focused on his food, and Steve was focused on Bucky. Steve knew he had a wistful smile on his face when Bucky finally glanced up at him.

"What?"

"I was just thinking," Steve said, "that we would have killed for a meal like this. Back in Brooklyn."

Bucky seemed to consider this. "We couldn't afford a real roast like this," he said, almost like he was guessing the right answer to a quiz. He looked to Steve for confirmation.

"No," said Steve, "not very often."

"You can now?" 

"Yeah, money isn't a problem anymore. Still not used to that. But there's also just...more...of everything these days. You can get food from anywhere in the world, any season. It's something else."

Steve felt that this was an ok place to segue into something he'd been very curious about. 

"How have you been able to eat? Do you have money?"

Bucky shrugged. "I stole what I needed."

Steve cringed on the inside and hoped it didn't show on his face. It did. 

"Sorry," Bucky said flatly, "I know you don't want to hear that. You don't approve."

“No, I...I mean, no, I don’t, but I’m not going to judge you. I’m glad you were able to take care of yourself. I just wish…” Steve hesitated. He didn’t want to anger Bucky, or scare him off, but he had to say it, “I wish you had come to me sooner. I could have helped. I _wanted_ to help.”

Bucky pushed a lump of squash around his plate with his fork, focused on it. “I couldn’t.”

“Why?” Steve asked, trying to hide his desperation. His need to know the answer to the question that had been haunting him for the past year.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You remembered me?”

“No. Sort of. I just knew I had to...not hurt you. But I wasn’t sure I could stop myself.”

“Are you sure now?”

Bucky looked up to meet his eyes. “No.”

“No?”

“I won’t hurt you if I can help it. I don’t think I’ll hurt you. I don’t want to. I don’t want to…” Bucky trailed off, muttering to himself. 

“You won’t,” Steve said, as much to himself as to Bucky, “you saved me.”

“After I nearly killed you.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Steve smirked, “I’ve survived worse than that.” He wasn’t sure what had made him joke like that. Desperate for something familiar, he supposed.

To his surprise, Bucky’s mouth turned up a bit. Almost a smile. “Yeah.”

****

Unsure of what else to do, Steve suggested they stroll to the beach to look at the lake up close. Bucky didn’t seem to care one way or the other what they did, so they stood next to each other at the edge of the water.

“I like the quiet here,” Steve said, “it’s nothing like Brooklyn, but it’s nice.”

He glanced at Bucky, who stood silent, unmoving. The autumn breeze pushed his hair around. He seemed transfixed on something in the distance, or maybe he was just zoned out completely. Steve noticed his brow furrow slightly before he spoke.

“We used to talk about this,” Bucky said, “a place in the country.”

Steve was stunned. He had forgotten that himself.

“Yeah, we did. I remember!” he said, doing a poor job of masking his excitement. “In our apartment in Brooklyn. I was sick - coughing - and you were cursing the dirty city air and how it wasn’t doing my asthma any good. You said one day we would move out to the country, where the air was fresh and it would heal me right up.”

“We were going to get a dog.”

“That’s right! We were going to buy a farmhouse and get a dog and you were going to go fishing everyday...we were just kids,” Steve said wistfully.

“Didn’t quite work out,” Bucky said.

“No. It didn’t.”

A long silence passed.

“I was swimming in this lake a few weeks ago,” Steve said, “it was nice. I can’t remember the last time I just went swimming for fun. Not for a mission or anything. Must have been before the war. The water’s probably way too cold now, though.”

“I don’t really feel the cold much anymore,” Bucky said. No sadness, just stating a fact.

“No. Me neither.”

****

The afternoon passed. Steve knew he had been more or less babbling all day, but he was still stunned by Bucky’s presence. It was surreal, having him here, but not quite having him here. He wasn’t sure what to say or do. What to suggest. He never knew what Bucky was thinking, and that was the most troubling thing of all. Steve and Bucky had always known what the other was thinking. They always knew what to say, and were never uncomfortable with each other. Steve desperately wished they could magically fall back into that. He knew they couldn’t.

Early in the evening, after Steve managed to make some half decent grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner, he noticed how tired Bucky looked. 

“You should maybe go to bed,” Steve suggested. The sun had barely set, but Steve was pretty exhausted himself after a nearly sleepless night at Bucky’s bedside.

He thought about all of the sleepless nights Bucky had spent at Steve’s bedside, before the war. Bucky would drag himself to work the next morning, no serum to help his body function without rest. He would always pretend he was fine. Wouldn’t think of letting Steve worry about him.

Bucky nodded and followed Steve upstairs. It occurred to Steve when they got up there that they hadn’t really discussed sleeping arrangements. He had no idea if Bucky was comfortable sleeping in one of the rooms by himself. Steve wasn’t sure if he was comfortable himself with letting Bucky out of his sights.

“Ah, there are three bedrooms. I don’t know if you want to-”

“This is your room?” Bucky asked, standing in the doorway of the room he had slept in the previous night.

“Yeah, but you can sleep here if you want. I mean...I can sleep in another room. Or…”

“I...I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

Bucky shook his head, his eyes were closed. “I don’t know why, but I feel like...I don’t want to sleep apart?”

Steve held his breath. “No?”

“Did we used to? I remember…”

Steve sat on the edge of the bed, lightheaded. “We only had one bed, in our apartment,” he explained, keeping his voice as steady as he could manage, “so we shared it. Helped us keep warm in the winter, too. And during the war, when we slept out in the field, it would get cold and we would...huddle together. For warmth.”

Bucky sat on the bed next to him.

“Do you remember?” Steve asked.

“I remember...warmth. I remember feeling comfortable. With you.”

Steve lifted a hand, unsure of where to place it, but needing to touch his friend somewhere. It hovered between them for a moment before he finally landed it just above Bucky’s knee. Bucky’s eyes went to the point of contact immediately.

“I was always comfortable with you, Bucky.”

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, and Steve expected to see him grab his head in pain again, but instead Bucky just shook his head and said “I can’t grab onto these memories. They’re _right there_ but I can’t…”

“It’s ok, Bucky, you just need time.”

“It’s like...being at a show, a movie or something. I can’t see the screen because there are all these people in the way, blocking my view. I can see part of the scene, but most of it is blocked.” He turned silver-blue eyes on Steve. They looked so sad.

Steve had unconsciously started rubbing circles with his thumb on Bucky’s leg. Old habits.

“Then we’ll just have to get everyone to clear out,” Steve said with a small smile.

Bucky’s eyes were watery, his bottom lip rolled into his mouth. Steve saw him swallow hard.

“Can you stay with me?” Bucky asked.

“Of course! Bucky, I was hoping...I mean, I want to,” he chuckled softly, “I’m not too keen on letting you out of my sight, to be honest. I don’t think I could sleep knowing you are in another room.”

Bucky seemed to understand. He nodded and immediately moved to lay down on the bed, on top of the blankets. He lay on his side, on the far side of the bed, facing Steve. Steve turned the light off in the bedroom and lay down facing Bucky. Neither of them bothered changing out of their clothes. Steve at least removed his shoes. Bucky's boots stayed on. 

Steve couldn’t believe this was real. He had missed this _so much_. Just sharing a bed with Bucky, the way it made him feel so at ease, so comfortable. He was home.

“Goodnight, Buck,” he said, easy as if they were still in that apartment in Brooklyn. As if decades of ice and horror hadn’t separated them.

“‘night, Stevie,” Bucky murmured sleepily before drifting off.

Steve’s stomach flipped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How was that? Was that ok? I was so nervous about posting this chapter because I couldn't stop re-writing this reunion.
> 
> Up next, a lot of nice Steve and Bucky moments.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I remember you,” Bucky murmured._
> 
> _“I know.”_
> 
> _“Everything,” Bucky said, “about you. About us. Other things I can’t quite grasp, but I remember us.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay but this is a nice long chapter to make up for it!

Steve was awake first. 

He blinked until his vision focused on the face inches from his own. Asleep. Peaceful. 

It was all Steve could do to keep himself from reaching out and brushing aside the tendrils of hair that had fallen across Bucky's face. Clean, fed, and rested, he looked more like the friend Steve knew better than he knew himself. The man he loved with all his heart. 

_You're here._

Steve kept himself perfectly still, afraid to wake his friend and disrupt this perfect, tranquil moment. He could stay here forever, in the grey light of early morning, Bucky sleeping comfortably beside him. Long lashes resting on top of sharp cheekbones. Dark stubble framing the lips that Steve had obsessed over since childhood. Lips he had drawn hundreds of times. 

Bucky could do amazing things with those lips. Steve had watched them twist into a wry smirk before unleashing a loving insult. Been nearly knocked over when they stretched into a blinding, joyous smile. Had been transfixed watching them wrap around the mouth of a bottle or a flask, mesmerized by how they glistened with whatever Bucky had been drinking. He had looked away quickly, only to turn his gaze back to Bucky using those lips to make girls squirm with pleasure as he pressed them to their cheeks, their necks, their mouths. Bucky would sometimes press them jovially to Steve's own cheeks or hair, and Steve would get a hint of how soft they were. It wasn't enough. He wanted to taste those lips. He wanted to feel them everywhere. 

But now was not the time. Maybe there would never be a time. Certainly not now, though. 

Bucky's eyes were open. He was watching Steve watch him. Steve felt himself blush instantly. 

"Good morning," Steve said, lamely. 

"You stayed."

"Yeah, of course! I said I would. I wanted to."

Bucky's eyes flicked down, then back up to meet Steve's. 

"I slept...well."

"Good! I'm glad. Me too, actually."

"I can't sleep long, usually. I...I wake up a lot. Nightmares."

"Yeah, me too."

They stayed silent for a minute, Steve still stunned by Bucky's presence. By his beauty. Right next to him. 

"So," Steve said, breaking his own trance, "you got plans today?"

Bucky looked confused, then seemed to realize that Steve was joking. 

"No," he finally said. 

"If we're going to stay here for awhile, we're going to need food and clothing."

"Ok."

"I can go myself, if you like. You can stay here."

Bucky seemed to consider this.

"Or?"

"You could come with me. If you feel up to it, I mean. If you want."

"Do you have scissors here?"

Not what Steve was expecting Bucky's response to be. 

"Yeah, I think so. Why?"

Bucky looked at him, and silently brought his fingers to the ends of his shoulder-length hair.

"Oh! You want to get rid of it?"

"Yes."

"Ok, I could...I could do that for you. Just like old times, right?"

"You used to cut my hair sometimes."

"Yeah! I even did an ok job when you would bother to sit still for two seconds."

"I can sit still."

Steve smiled sadly, trying not to show how much these statements winded him. 

"I know, Bucky."

****

Bucky sat in a rickety wooden chair from the living room that Steve had pulled into the middle of the kitchen area. Steve had draped a bedsheet over his friend to catch the hair. He looked very cute, Steve thought. 

“How do, uh, what do you want me to do here?” Steve asked.

“I don’t care. Make me look how you remember me, if you want.”

“Do _you_ want that?”

“I can’t get rid of the arm, but I can get rid of this. I know it’s hard for you to look at me.”

“It’s not!” _It is._ “Bucky, you’re not doing this for me, are you?”

“No. Maybe. Can you just…”

Steve exhaled slowly, trying to steady his hand before moving the scissors to make the first cut. 

“I might do a terrible job of this,” Steve warned.

“I’m not as vain as I used to be.”

Steve had to smile a bit at that. 

“Remember the time I pretended my hand slipped and I said I cut a bald patch in the back of your head?”

“That wasn’t funny,” Bucky replied quickly, “you were such a little punk.”

“You were so mad!”

“I was goin’ out that night!”

Steve laughed and gave Bucky a little shove before he realized what exactly was happening. How suddenly they had slipped into their easy banter. Just like old days.

“Bucky?” he asked, noticing that the other man had also gone silent.

“Just, cut it. Please.”

Steve did. He spent about twenty minutes working very meticulously on getting Bucky’s hair closer to how he remembered. Maybe not the length it was before the war, when he was always slicking it back, but during the war, when his regulation cut grew out a bit on long missions. Steve had always liked that look on him. And he felt it would work ok as a modern hairstyle.

“There you are, sir. That will be thirty cents,” Steve said cheerfully when he finished.

“I think I should get to see it first,” Bucky said flatly.

Steve removed the sheet from around Bucky and went to grab the broom from the small storage closet. “You can check in one of the mirrors upstairs. Bathroom has one.”

Bucky left to do that. Steve swept up the hair, feeling anxious about Bucky’s opinion of his new look. He emptied the dustpan into the garbage then turned to see if Bucky had returned. He hadn't. Ten minutes went by, then another ten. Steve could hear water running upstairs. He considered going up there, frantically worrying that Bucky hated the haircut and was...trying to fix it? With water? Maybe turning on water as a distraction so he could escape through a window?

Steve was just about to head upstairs when he heard footsteps on the staircase. He closed his eyes, breathing a sigh of relief, and opened them to see Bucky standing at the bottom of the stairs looking...like Bucky. Looking so much _like Bucky._ God.

“What do you think?” Steve managed to get out, barely more than a whisper. Bucky had shaved the thick stubble that had covered his face since they were first reunited back in Washington. 

Bucky nodded. He looked overwhelmed, Steve noticed. Emotional, even.

“Buck? You ok?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, sniffing sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose right between his eyes. “Yeah, I just...fuck, sorry, I’m fine...I don’t know. When I looked in the mirror I just…”

Steve was frozen in place, overcome with emotion suddenly. He felt tears sting his own eyes, his throat clenched. 

“I just,” Bucky continued, rolling his eyes upward and keeping his gaze fixed on the ceiling, “I haven’t recognized...him...in me. Before. Not really. But with the hair, and you here, I feel it all coming together.”

Steve was finally able to move, and he crossed the room quickly, threw his arms around his friend. 

“Bucky, you can’t imagine how happy I am to hear that.”

Bucky returned the hug, actually squeezing Steve pretty hard. Steve didn't mind at all. They stayed like that for a minute, Steve listening to Bucky's ragged breathing. Eventually Bucky pressed his forehead into Steve's shoulder and murmured "Sap."

"Only when it comes to you, Buck," Steve said, and squeezed harder. 

****

"I really do need to get groceries." Steve said, pulling his head out of the fridge, "We're out of eggs, bread, orange juice, and, most importantly, coffee."

"What do we have?"

"Um...mustard...a couple of apples, and a jar of pickles."

"We need groceries."

Steve grinned. "You wanna come with?"

"I guess I've got nothing better to do."

Steve tried to hide his excitement. "We could go to the little farm market down the road, or we could go into town to one of the big supermarkets. Have you been in one of those before?"

"Yes, when you went with the redhead. A few weeks ago."

Steve's jaw dropped open. "You were there? You followed us?”

"Yes."

"I, uh," Steve slumped into one of the chairs at the dining table, "I didn't realize you'd been following me so closely. For how long?"

“In this area? About three weeks.”

“And before that?”

“I didn’t need to follow you. You were following me. And it seems we had the same mission.”

“Destroying Hydra.”

“That mission will never be completed,” Bucky said darkly.

“Yeah, I’m starting to get that.”

Steve looked at Bucky, who was now standing straight up, motionless. At attention. Talking about these things, missions, Hydra, tracking, survival...he noticed how it made the Winter Soldier return. Not as a threat, just a presence. Detached from the Bucky that Steve knew. His speech would become stiffer, more robotic. 

Steve stood abruptly, determined to bring Bucky back to the surface. “So, groceries? You still like raisin toast as much as you used to? Because we can put actual butter on it now.”

He noticed Bucky’s mouth twitch up a bit.

“Yeah,” he said, “yeah I think I might.”

****

They did end up going into town to the Wal-Mart because Steve remembered that they also needed extra clothing. The drive to the store had been quiet between them, Steve driving and trying to keep his eyes on the road and not stealing glances at his friend’s new (old) look. 

They stood in the middle of the massive produce section with an empty cart. Steve still wasn’t very good at shopping in these huge supermarkets. He couldn’t even imagine how Bucky felt about it.

“Anything you want, Buck. Just toss it in the cart," he said, adding sheepishly, "I'm good for it these days."

He noticed Bucky staring, wide-eyed, at the display of fresh pineapples. 

"I know, it's crazy, right?" Steve said, "You want to get one? We should get one." He grabbed the closest pineapple and placed it in the cart. 

"I don't know what I'm having a harder time with," Bucky said, "the fact that there's so much, or the fact that everything costs more than a week's salary."

"Yeah, a _good_ week. Can you imagine spending almost five dollars on a piece of fruit in the forties?"

"I probably couldn't even have imagined _having_ five dollars most of the time."

For about the millionth time in the past couple of days, Steve suppressed his giddiness. _Bucky remembered something. Bucky made a joke!_

They filled the cart with fresh fruit, some basic vegetables (Steve still had no idea what to do with kale), pasta, bottled sauces, milk, cereal, eggs, bread, and a crazy amount of meat. Steve also went a little nuts in the snack aisle, unsure of what Bucky would like but wanting him to try everything. The cereal aisle had been especially baffling to Bucky. He had taken a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf and stared at it for a full minute before muttering "what the fuck?" under his breath. Steve had gently removed it from his hands and placed it back on the shelf with a shrug that let Bucky know that he didn't know either. 

Despite Steve’s encouragement, Bucky didn’t choose any of the things that went in the cart. He seemed content to let Steve decide what they would eat. Indifferent, really. The only thing that Steve caught his friend looking a little longingly at was a chocolate cake in the bakery section. Steve put it in the cart.

“I guess you’re planning on staying at the house for awhile,” Bucky said, nodding toward the mountain of food in the cart. His voice was even, but there was definitely a hopefulness that he couldn’t quite conceal.

“This? I could eat all of this in, like, two days easy,” Steve grinned, “but, yes, I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

Bucky flinched a little. Still not used to kindness, Steve supposed.

“What about your team?” Bucky asked, “Don’t they need you?”

“They’ll let me know, but they won’t ask me to come back unless it’s urgent.”

“And if it’s urgent?”

“Then I’ll have to go. But I’ll come back. Or you could come with me. Whatever you want.”

“Right,” Bucky said, sounding a little distant. 

****

They drove back in silence. Not uncomfortable. Just silence. 

Bucky had withdrawn even further after he had caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror in the men’s clothing section. Steve had been making a joke about what Tony would say if he saw Steve buying clothes at Wal-Mart when he noticed Bucky frozen in front of a full-length mirror. Steve had walked up behind him, carefully always carefully, and stood beside him. The reflection of the two of them, together, seventy years after both of their deaths, had taken Steve's breath away too. Modern setting, modern clothing, but they were the same men. More or less. 

Then it occurred to Steve that he could possibly get recognized, and that it might be hard to explain why he's with someone who looks exactly like his long-dead, and almost equally famous, brother-in-arms. He decided to get them both out of there as quickly as possible. 

Now they were putting groceries away in the kitchen. It was Bucky who finally broke the silence.

“You were there when I fell,” he said. No warning.

Steve almost dropped the carton of orange juice he was carrying to the fridge.

“Yes. I was.”

“I remember,” Bucky said, “reaching for you. Watching you get smaller and smaller. I was screaming for you.”

The orange juice got placed on the counter. “I’m so sorry Bucky. I should have tried harder. I...you can’t imagine how many times I’ve replayed that moment in my mind. It was the…” Steve heard his voice break. Felt his throat struggle. “It was the _worst_ moment. I lost everything that day. I never...I couldn’t continue, after that.”

“You couldn’t?”

“No. I...I went after Schmidt a few days after that. Jumped onto his plane, and crashed it into the ice.”

“Because you had to,” Bucky said, a questioning note in his words, “you had no choice.”

Steve shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

Bucky looked stunned, shaken. He grabbed onto the counter with his gloved hand. Steve braced himself for a Bucky Barnes lecture about being stupid and reckless. Instead he got:

“I remember when they told me...Hydra...after they had captured me, before they...made me forget…”

“Told you what?”

Bucky looked hard at him, “They told me you were dead. They showed me the newspaper headline. You were dead…”

“Bucky,” Steve said, his voice so strained he barely heard the word himself. It had never occurred to him that Bucky would have learned about his death.

“I knew that no one would be coming to save me. And...I maybe didn’t care anymore,” Bucky said, his hard glare fading into something much more pained.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve said for the second time, “I should have looked for you. I should have...I never thought, couldn’t have hoped that you had survived that fall. I didn’t know about-”

“The serum. Zola,” Bucky finished, “Zola had done something to me in Italy.”

“You never told me.”

“I don’t remember why I didn’t tell you. I don’t remember much about the war. But I remember falling, and I remember telling myself that you would rescue me after. And,” he said, “I remember how I felt when I found out you were dead. So I understand, I think.”

Steve’s tears were free flowing now. He looked at the ceiling, trying to stop them.

“Did you always cry this much? I don’t think you did, did you?” Bucky asked.

Steve sniffed and laughed a little, “No, Bucky. You were always the emotional one.”

“Huh,” Bucky said, considering this information, “would you like me to...hug you?”

Steve laughed more, “Yeah, I would.”

Bucky took a couple of steps toward Steve and somewhat awkwardly extended his arms. Steve moved right into them, burying his face on Bucky’s right shoulder. Bucky closed his arms, his palms flat on Steve’s upper and lower back.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Bucky said quietly, “me falling, I mean. Nothing you could have done.”

“I should have jumped after you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

Steve laughed again. “You did it. On the helicarrier. You jumped after me. You didn’t even know me.”

“Not the same.”

Steve moved back so he could see Bucky’s face. “Why did you do it? Why did you save me?”

“I...I don’t know. A lot of things are fuzzy about that day, but…”

“But?”

“When I saw you fall, saw you get smaller and smaller, it triggered something, and...I had to save you.”

Steve bit his lip. Bucky looked at him strangely.

“You’re going to cry again, aren’t you?”

Steve nodded, “Yeah, Bucky. I am.”

****

As the day got late, the house got cold. Steve decided to get a fire going in the woodstove. It crackled merrily and made the room very cozy. 

Bucky had gone upstairs to take a shower and change into the new clothes that actually fit him. Steve was studying the apple crisp recipe in _The Joy of Cooking_. He was pretty sure he could pull this off.

A half hour later he had successfully peeled, cored and sliced eight apples and had found a suitable baking dish. He mixed the ingredients for the topping together, after briefly panicking because he couldn’t find the cinnamon (it was beside the toaster), and got it into the oven just as Bucky was coming down the stairs. 

“You bakin' fer me?” Bucky asked, a hint of Brooklyn drawl that sent a spark down Steve’s spine.

“I am, actually. You still like apple crisp?”

“Probably." Then, “You made a fire.”

“Yeah, well, it was cold and I thought it would be...nice.”

“It is.”

Bucky wandered over to the woodstove and sat on the floor in front of it, feet stretched out in front of him. He was wearing one of the new pairs of jeans they had bought with a t-shirt, a navy hoodie and, as always, his combat boots.

Steve got to work on dinner. He decided to just make some pasta with bottled sauce and ground beef. Frankly, the apple crisp had taken a lot out of him.

About half an hour later both men were sitting on the floor in front of the woodstove, eating pasta. 

“Hey, replace the pasta with beans and this would be kind of like the war,” Steve said.

“I don’t remember the war being this comfortable,” Bucky said.

“No, you’re right. We would need to have wet socks and cold coffee for this to really feel like the war.”

“And Dugan yammering on about something.”

“Yeah!” Steve laughed, “You remember Dugan?”

“Hard guy to forget, I suspect.”

“That’s the truth.”

Steve was so tempted to ask “what else do you remember?” but he knew it was too much. He couldn’t force this. Let Bucky tell him what he wanted to at his own pace. Instead he said, 

“I miss those guys.”

“Wish we could have met them under different circumstances.”

“Yeah. We were a hell of a team, though.”

“You’ve got a new team now. They seem...good?”

“Ha, yeah. The team I have now kind of makes Captain America seem pretty unexceptional. Downright boring, really.”

“I was surprised,” Bucky said, “when I started to remember, that you were still him. Captain America.”

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us. I just...didn’t know what else to do,” he shrugged, “I mean, it helped that aliens attacked shortly after I woke up, so that gave me something to focus on.”

“Right.”

“I thought about quitting. A lot, actually. Especially after...you know, seeing you again. And then S.H.I.E.L.D. being destroyed. But then Tony called, and, well…”

“You like it,” Bucky observed, “fighting. Missions. Being a hero.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, “I do. It’s who I am, I guess."

“You always want to help,” Bucky said, “you always did.”

“You always helped me,” Steve said, “I only ever wanted to be...” He stopped himself from saying _good enough for you_. Too much. 

There was a moment where neither of them said anything, then Bucky asked quietly,

“Can you tell me how we met? I think I remember, but I want to hear you tell it.”

Steve beamed. “Yeah, of course, Buck.” And he told him.

****

“I still like apple crisp,” Bucky declared, “I like it a lot. Is there more apple crisp?”

“Yeah, sure, help yourself! I’m glad it’s edible.”

They were at the small dining table now. The sun had fully set, and the fire in the woodstove continued to crackle cheerfully.

Bucky returned to the table with the entire baking dish of apple crisp and started dipping his spoon in.

"When did you learn how to cook?" he asked. 

"I didn't. I mean, I'm still learning. But I _did_ used to do most of the cooking when we lived together."

"Yeah I know. That's why I asked," Bucky said smoothly, eyes focused on the desert in front of him. He turned them up to meet Steve's. There was a definite mischievous glint in them. And his mouth had turned up into what could only be called a smirk. Steve was gob smacked. He tossed his crumpled napkin at him, which Bucky dodged easily. 

"Jerk," Steve said. 

"Punk," Bucky said, still grinning. His face changed abruptly after he said the word. He dropped his spoon, looking panicked. 

"Bucky?"

"I, uh," he squeezed his eyes shut, "I, wow, I just..." He opened his eyes and stared at Steve, "something just happened."

"Is the theatre clearing out?" Steve asked gently, "you getting a better view of the screen?"

Bucky stood up. "I need...I just. I need some air. I'll be back, I promise. Just...I need some time." He made a beeline for the door. 

"Bucky, wait!"

"I'll be back." Then, he was gone. 

****

The wait was unbearable. Steve tried to busy himself. He washed the dishes, added another log to the fire. There was nothing to _do_. 

He texted Nat. He hadn't done that since she left. 

_Hi._

_Hi?_

_Did you know Bucky was in the Wal-Mart with us when we were there last month?_

A minute went by before she sent her reply. 

_Yes._

Steve's grip tightened on his phone. He tried not to be angry. 

_Why didn't you tell me?_

_He wasn't ready._

Steve sighed. He knew she had done the right thing. He was just always thrown by how effortlessly she could conceal the truth from people. 

_How is he?_ She asked when he didn't reply. 

_Good. Great. Getting better._

_Yay!_

Then,

_How are you?_

_I'm fine. I'm happy to have him back. Kind of stunned still._

Her reply was just a heart with a question mark. Steve shook his head and wrote, 

_No. Not the time. Not yet. Maybe not ever._

_I'm here if you need me. We all are._

_Thanks. Good night._

_xoxo_

Steve smiled. Thank God for Natasha. 

Eventually he just flopped onto the couch and stared at the fireplace. For the first time he wished the house had a television. He decided to run upstairs and grab his sketchbook. It was something to do, anyway. Better than fighting down the urge to run out into the darkness screaming Bucky's name. 

When he came back downstairs, Bucky was standing in the living room. 

"Bucky! Thank God!"

"Told you I'd be back."

"I know, I just...are you ok? You were pretty shaken up."

"I'm ok. I...I can't talk about it yet. Can we just sit, maybe?"

"Yeah, of course! I was just gonna," Steve held up his sketchbook. 

"You still draw." 

"I do, yes."

"Can I see?"

"Um, yeah, sure, just...I mean, don't freak out or anything but..." Unable to finish the sentence, Steve just handed Bucky the sketchbook. He couldn't watch as Bucky took it to the couch and flipped through it. 

"There are a lot of drawings of me," he said after several long, agonizing minutes. 

"Yeah, well...I guess you've been on my mind a lot," Steve said lamely. 

"This one," Bucky said, pressing a gloved finger to one page, "you drew me fighting. As the Soldier."

"I did. I know when we were fighting, on the street, I didn't know who you were at first, and I was trying to take you down, but I couldn't help but be...impressed. The way you fought. It was really beautiful, almost."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. 

"I was trying to kill you and your friends."

"I know that. I know. But the way you moved, it was almost mesmerizing. I just wanted to capture it, somehow. I don't think I really did you justice."

Bucky looked at the drawing. "Beautiful," he said flatly, "Don't think there is anything beautiful about what they made me."

"No, I know. I'm sorry. I didn't mean...dammit...I'm not trying to praise what they did. I'm just saying...you were always graceful, Bucky. I always loved watching you dance. Watching you walk, even. The way you would enter a room. God, the girls couldn't keep their eyes off you. And in the war you were the best sniper the U.S. Army had ever seen. So the way you moved when you fought as the Winter Soldier, I think that was all Bucky Barnes."

Bucky didn't say anything to that, just kept his eyes on the page. Steve sat at the opposite end of the couch. 

"Besides," Steve said with a wry grin, "it's not often I get to fight someone who's in my league."

Bucky looked up, stunned, then snorted. "I always knew you liked getting punched."

Steve laughed, and Bucky kept staring at him. 

"What?" Steve asked. 

"Christ," Bucky whispered. 

"You alright?"

Bucky's face looked anguished. "I don't know. I..."

"Hey, come here," Steve reached out an arm. Bucky came toward him without hesitation. Steve gently guided Bucky's head down so it rested on Steve's thigh. His fingers found their way into Bucky's hair. The fire danced. Steve's mind went directly to that night during the war after he had rescued Bucky and the others from the factory. He wondered if Bucky was thinking the same thing. 

"It's ok," Steve said soothingly. 

"I'm not ok. I'm never going to be ok."

"You've come a long way, even in the past couple of days, Bucky."

"I'm a fucking mess."

"I'm good at cleaning."

"Steve..." he murmured, and Steve felt Bucky's flesh fingers wrap around his shin, into his calf muscle. Gripping him like a life preserver. 

"I'm here, Bucky. I'm not going anywhere."

He looked down at the profile of Bucky's face on his thigh. His eyes were closed, his brow knit. Steve wanted to run his fingers over that brow, smooth out the tension. He wanted to drag them down the slope of Bucky's nose, over his perfect red lips, the cleft in his chin and beyond. God, he was gorgeous, and Steve loved him so much. Had always loved him so much. 

He kept his fingers in Bucky's hair. He was afraid to move, afraid to speak because he didn't want to interrupt this moment. He knew only the most fucked up circumstances had allowed them to be here, together, in the twenty-first century in a cottage in upstate New York, but he didn't care. He was selfish like that. 

"Might fall asleep like this," Bucky mumbled. 

"I don't mind," Steve said, too quickly, before adding, "but we could go to bed."

Bucky didn't respond for a moment, then, very reluctantly it seemed, he lifted his head off of Steve's lap and sat up. 

"Sorry," Bucky said. 

"For what?"

"For all of this. Me. Sorry. You shouldn't have to..."

"You can stop right there, Bucky, because I am not going to listen to you apologize for being in my life again. You can _never_ apologize for that, ok? I can't...you can't believe how happy I am that you're here."

Bucky stood and Steve, without thinking, grabbed his flesh hand. Bucky stared at him, and then at their joined hands, eyes wide. 

"If I lost you again, Buck, I don't know what I'd do. I just can't, ok? There was nothing left of me after you fell, and when I woke up here I was so _mad_. Just full of rage because I was supposed to be finished. I wasn't supposed to still be here. Not without you."

Bucky kept his eyes on their hands, not pulling away, but looking slightly panicked. 

"And when I saw you again," Steve continued, "I was...I mean, I was stunned and confused and _terrified_ , but it was like I got the piece back that had been missing since the train. Like the hole inside me went away. And then you saved me..."

"After trying to kill you."

"After _deciding not to_ kill me," Steve corrected, "I knew it really was you, and that I could get you back."

"I still don't know if that's true."

"It's true enough, Bucky. You're getting pieces of yourself back all the time. I can see it."

"Yeah, well, some of those pieces maybe I don't want back."

"Then we'll face that together."

"Some things I can't share with you."

"You can share anything with me, if you want, I mean."

"Some things I can't. Some things..."

Bucky pulled his hand away.

"Some things what, Buck?"

"Some things I could _never_ share with you," Bucky said. It wasn't cold, or meant to be hurtful. He just sounded tired.

Steve opened his mouth to say something, but instead Bucky announced that he was going to bed, and promptly left. 

****

Steve waited before going upstairs. As long as he could stand to wait, anyway, which was about twenty minutes. 

Bucky was curled up on the bed, facing the door, lights on, eyes open. 

"Hey," Steve said. 

“Hey.”

“You, ah, you want me to sleep in another room?”

“No,” Bucky said. Steve was both relieved and ecstatic about how quickly he answered.

“Ok, I was thinking maybe you want to try sleepwear tonight. Maybe take the boots off?”

“Oh…”

“You’re safe here, Bucky. No need to have an escape plan. I promise.”

He seemed to consider this, then sat up with a sigh. Steve dug some pyjama pants that he had bought for Bucky at the store that day out of the bags that were still sitting on the bedroom floor. 

“Here.”

Bucky took them and, with some hesitation, began removing his boots. Steve tried not to make it seem like a big deal, but inside he was jumping up and down. Bucky turned away from Steve, removed his jeans, and replaced them with the plaid, flannel pyjama pants. He unzipped the hoodie and took it off, now wearing only a black t-shirt that revealed most of his metal arm. Steve tried not to stare.

Noticing that his arm was fully on display, Bucky removed the leather glove that he always wore on his left hand. He flexed his metal fingers, studying them like he was seeing them for the first time.

“It’s something, isn’t it?” Bucky said.

“It looks very...complicated. Intricate. But also kind of...beautiful.”

Bucky looked at him. “There’s that word again.”

Steve felt himself blush. “No, I mean, I _hate_ what they did to you, Buck. I’m not-”

“It’s ok. It is kind of...I would have thought it was neat, I think. Back in Brooklyn. I liked that stuff, right?”

Steve grinned, “Yeah, you always liked those science fiction pulps. And you were always interested in inventions and technology and the future.” Steve looked at the arm, “Can I...do you mind if I touch it?”

“Oh. Sure.” Bucky held his arm out and Steve stepped toward him. He placed his hand gently near the inside of Bucky’s elbow. The metal was surprisingly warm. He ran his fingers down the plates to Bucky’s wrist. He wrapped his hand around the wrist and rubbed his thumb down over the metal palm. He repeated the rubbing motion a couple of times before Bucky closed his mechanical fingers carefully over Steve’s thumb. Steve felt his own breath hitch. He brought his other hand up to lay on top of Bucky’s curled, metal fingers. He would show him that the arm didn’t bother him. That it was a part of Bucky now, so Steve loved it like he loved all parts of Bucky.

He chanced a glimpse at Bucky’s face. His eyes were closed, his head tilted down. Steve exhaled slowly and rested his forehead against Bucky’s. 

“I remember you,” Bucky murmured.

“I know.”

“Everything,” Bucky said, “about you. About us. Other things I can’t quite grasp, but I remember us.”

“Bucky…”

“Don’t cry. Something inside of me always held onto you. I never completely forgot you. I just couldn’t put together who you were exactly, or what you meant to me. But, now…”

Steve pressed his lips together hard, trying to obey Bucky’s order not to cry. He had really done more than enough of that lately.

“Now?”

“Now I know exactly what you mean to me. And no one is taking that from me again.”

Steve exhaled a slow, shuddering breath. He wanted to show Bucky exactly what he meant to _him_. He wanted to press their mouths together and make sure Bucky knew how close Steve wanted to be to him at all times. He wanted to love him, to tell him he loved him. He would always, always love him.

He didn’t do any of those things. Instead he just enjoyed the intimacy of the moment, and celebrated the revelation of Bucky’s words. Eventually he stepped back, breaking contact, and suggested they get some sleep.

This time Steve pulled back the blankets, pulling them up over Bucky after he lay on the bed.

“Are you actually tucking me in?” Bucky asked.

“Maybe.”

“I could get used to it.”

Steve smiled, turned off the light, and climbed into bed beside him. They lay there for a few minutes, Bucky curled on his left side with his back to Steve, and Steve lying on his back staring at the dark ceiling. He wanted to roll onto his side, wrap an arm around Bucky like they did during the war, snuggle up as close as possible. He really couldn’t trust himself to not start kissing Bucky’s hair, though. Maybe the back of his neck, his shoulders…

“What are you thinking about, Steve?”

“Nothing! I mean, just, happy. Happy you’re here.”

“Mmm,” Bucky murmured sleepily. 

Steve stayed awake long after Bucky fell into a deep and peaceful sleep. Steve watched the rise and fall of his back in the darkness, listening to his light snoring, and the sporadic, mechanical whirring noises his arm made. He honestly didn’t know if he could do it this time. If he could keep his feelings for Bucky a secret. During the war, and before that, Steve hadn’t allowed himself to accept the truth of his own feelings, so it had been easier to ignore. Now that he was fully aware of them, had named them to another person, he worried the secret would tear him apart.

_You are being selfish_ , he scolded himself. _You should be happy enough that you have your best friend back. Especially after all he’s been through._

And he could be. Happy enough. Maybe. God, he wanted to be.

****

Steve blinked. The room was still dark. There was a weight...something...constricting him. A warmth against his back, another warmth tickling the back of his neck. He blinked again to bring himself fully into consciousness. He was on his side, metal fingers rested on the mattress in front of his stomach. Metal fingers that were attached to a metal arm that was wrapped securely around his waist. An arm that was attached to his best friend, who was definitely pressed against his back and sleeping soundly.

Steve beamed into the darkness and cautiously covered the hand on the mattress with his own. When there was no stirring from Bucky, Steve tangled their fingers together and gave a gentle squeeze. He wasn’t even sure how much feeling Bucky had in that hand, but he still treated it like flesh and blood and bone.

Bucky sighed in his sleep, an exhilarating gust of soft breath hitting the short hairs on the back of Steve’s neck. 

“I love you, Bucky,” Steve whispered, as softly as he could. A practice run, into the darkness, because he had never said that sentence aloud before. He wanted to say it every day, all the time, as loudly as he could.

Bucky just continued to breathe against his neck, and Steve continued to float.

****

When Steve woke up a second time, it was morning. The room was dimly lit by the grey morning, and Steve was alone. The friendly arm was gone, the warmth against Steve’s back was gone, the soft breath was gone. Bucky was gone.

_Bucky was gone!_

Steve threw off the blankets and was on his feet and into the hallway in a heartbeat. A frantic, hammering heartbeat.

“Bucky? Bucky!”

Dammit. Steve imagined Bucky waking up with his arm around Steve, with Steve holding his damn hand, and rightfully freaking out. What if he was gone? What if Steve would have to start the whole search over again?

“Good morning,” Bucky said calmly after Steve barreled down the stairs. 

“Bucky! What are you...I thought you’d…what are you doing?”

“I’m making breakfast,” Bucky said, his tone suggesting that this should be obvious to Steve.

Steve finally let himself calm down, and he actually took in the scene in front of him. Bucky had _The Joy of Cooking_ out (great investment, Nat, really), and was stirring something in a frying pan.

“Scrambled eggs,” Bucky explained, “I remembered that you liked them. Is that right?”

“Yeah, yes! I do!”

Bucky looked relieved and a little pleased. He turned back to the frying pan.

Steve suddenly noticed how good the kitchen smelled. 

“Is that bacon?”

“Yeah, it’s in the oven,” Bucky said, “And, uh, I was hoping you could make coffee. I couldn’t quite figure that thing out.” He gestured toward the coffee maker.

“No problem,” Steve grinned, “It was like the first thing I learned, how to work a coffee maker. At least this kind. There are some very fancy ways of making coffee these days.”

"There are these places...Starbucks? I saw them everywhere. Why are they called that? What does it mean?"

"Thank you! I have _no idea!_ Everyone talks about them like they are a part of daily life, and that it's a normal name for a coffee shop but it's weird. I just never said anything because I'm trying so hard to fit in."

"I walked around Brooklyn a lot," Bucky said as he turned the burner off under the frying pan, "trying to find familiar things. Trying to trigger memories, but so much of it had changed, I think. It didn't feel familiar."

"Yeah, it's changed a lot. I was thinking about moving back there, but..."

"It's not home anymore."

"No."

Steve realized in that moment that this, right here, was the most he'd felt at home since the war. Making breakfast with Bucky in a simple, small house. It was comfortable and familiar, and he was happy and, yes, in love, but more importantly he had a profound feeling of belonging. 

They sat down to eat the eggs and bacon and coffee. It was all perfect. 

"Bucky," Steve said cautiously as they sat across from one another, "you aren't going to leave, are you?"

Bucky put his coffee mug down.

"No, Steve. I won't leave. Not if I don't have to."

"You'll never have to, Bucky."

Bucky gave a wry smile that was heartbreakingly familiar to Steve. The one that Bucky had always given as a response when Steve would promise the impossible. 

"Then I guess I'm never leaving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise you that nothing terrible is going to happen to these guys in this story. This is a happy story.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"I always saw you, Stevie. Even if everyone else was too stupid."_  
> 
>  
> 
> _Steve swallowed. What could he say to that?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning/promise: this chapter is where the sex stuff happens.

"How's your head?" Steve asked, "Still having headaches?"

"Sometimes. Not as bad, though."

Steve was stretched out on the couch, reading, but not really reading, a book about the Cuban Missile Crisis. Bucky was lurking around the room, picking up various objects and studying them.

"And are you...I mean, I know you're not ok, but are you feeling relatively well?"

"Yeah, just, still a pretty big mess in here," Bucky said, tapping a metal finger to the side of his head, "Don't think that's gonna change."

Steve frowned."If you want...I mean, it doesn't have to be right away, but someday if you want I might know some people who could help with that."

"I doubt it," Bucky said, then gestured toward Steve's book, "That about Kennedy?"

"Uh, yeah. Sort of..."

"I know how it ends," Bucky said darkly.

Steve snapped the book shut and dropped it like it was on fire. "Jesus, Bucky. I'm sorry. I forgot..."

"That I assassinated the president? Yeah, that's the kind of thing you're gonna have to _forget_ if you want to be best friends."

Steve stood. "It wasn't you, Bucky."

"I can assure you it was. I was there." Bucky was facing Steve, but there were several feet between them.

"Your body maybe, but not _you_ , Buck. You couldn't help it."

Bucky shrugged. "Maybe."

"Bucky..."

"I know, Steve. I know. But...if you knew everything I've done..."

"I _do_ know, Bucky. I read the file. It made me sick and I hated every word of it, but I _know._ "

"Yeah? How about your buddy, Tony Stark? Does he know?"

Steve knew exactly what he was talking about. His stomach clenched.

"I don't know," Steve said quietly.

"I _killed his parents_ , Steve. Had to finish off his mother with my own hands when the car crash didn't kill her. Broke her neck. I can see her face, still. I can see _all of their faces_ , Steve."

Steve took a step toward him. "Bucky, what Hydra did to you was horrific. It's sick and it's awful, but _they_ are the monsters, not you. They took you, the best man I've ever known, and they made you into something that was...God, Bucky, but you _came back_. They _tried_ to destroy you but they couldn't. You're here you're..." Steve's voice broke for about the hundredth time that week.

Steve turned his eyes up, and when he looked back at Bucky he could see he was overcome with emotion, too.

"Steve..." Bucky said in a tiny voice, "I'm sorry, I can't. I can't talk about this now. I can't think about it. Please, can we just stop?"

“Yeah, sure, Buck. Sure. Let’s just…” he exhaled, “You know what? I’m going crazy here. I don’t know about you, but I’m used to being a lot more active than I have been the past few days. Do you wanna...I don’t know, spar or something? We could go out in the yard…”

Bucky was looking at him, wide-eyed, and Steve immediately regretted his words.

“Sorry, that was, I mean, of course you don’t.”

“No. I _do_. God, I really do.”

Steve brightened. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, let’s go, _Captain._ ”

Steve smirked, “Oh, you’re gonna regret that.”

Ten minutes later they were in the yard, Steve in sneakers, Bucky in boots. Steve didn’t feel great about that imbalance. They stood a few feet away from each other, both in fighting stance, neither one making a move.

“How are we going to start this?” Steve asked.

“You tell me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t.”

“I think maybe you forget how strong I am.”

Bucky snorted. “I didn’t forget. It just doesn’t matter if you can’t touch me.”

That was all the invitation Steve needed. He lunged forward and moved to grab Bucky so he could throw him, but he ended up grabbing air. He only had a second to be surprised about that before he was flat on his back because Bucky had somehow grabbed him from behind.

Bucky extended his hand, “Let me help you up, old man.”

Steve quickly swept Bucky’s legs and brought him down. “You’re older than me, idiot,” Steve said.

They both pushed themselves up to standing positions in unison and continued fighting. For the first few minutes they were being very careful with one another, but pride started getting in the way and soon the kid gloves were off. They were locked in a perfect, brutal dance. Every move was lightning fast and brilliantly precise. Steve was exhilarated.

“Not so hot without your toy, are ya?” Bucky goaded him, “Want me to get you a garbage can lid or something?”

Steve, because his temper was ridiculous, responded by punching Bucky square in the jaw. He was immediately horrified with himself.

“Bucky! Bucky, oh God, I’m sorry! I got caught in the moment, I wasn’t thinking-”

Bucky looked up, his lip bleeding, and _grinned._

“Now we’re fucking _talking_ ,” Bucky said, and kicked Steve in the chest.

It went a little fucking crazy after that. It finally ended with them both on their backs, next to each other on the grass, chests heaving. They were both sweaty, dirty, and bleeding in various places.

“That good for you, Rogers?” Bucky asked, breathing hard.

Steve barked out a laugh, “Yeah.”

"Jesus," Bucky breathed.

"Yeah," Steve agreed, "we should try fighting on the same side sometime."

Bucky was silent a moment. "You'd like that?"

"Of course, Bucky. I know you need a lot of time to work things out, but someday, when you're ready, I'd love to have you on the team."

Another moment of silence, and then, "Christ you're dumb."

"What?"

"You really think if the world finds out about me that they aren't gonna hang me?"

Steve was horrified. "They won't, Bucky! Not when they know the truth."

"The truth is exactly what I'm talking about, Steve. Or did you forget about the assassinating again?"

Steve sat up, "Stop it," he said, "I know people who will be able to help you. People who know what Hydra did to you. No one is going to charge you with anything, Bucky. You're a war hero. And besides..."

Bucky rolled onto his side, propped up on an elbow. "Besides what?"

Steve flashed his bond salesman smile, "You've got Captain America vouching for you, son."

****

Sparring had been a good idea. Steve was sure it had been exactly what they both needed. Well, maybe not _exactly_ what Steve needed, but the fighting had left him feeling somewhat...spent. Satisfied, relaxed. There was something that had seemed oddly sexual about it. At least, he imagined that's what one might feel like after sex. If, y'know, one had ever _had_ sex in their ninety-plus years of life.

And Bucky, to Steve's delight, had seemed remarkably more Bucky-ish since the sparring match. The exchange of blows seemed to clear up a lot of the awkward tension that had hung over them since Bucky had arrived.

Now they were both sitting at the kitchen table with the supermarket chocolate cake between them. They each had a fork and we're just eating it right out of the container. Steve had enjoyed watching Bucky take his first bite, the way his eyes fluttered closed and a noise like a sigh escaped him as he savoured the rich treat. Bucky had always loved chocolate.

"When's the last time you had chocolate?" Steve asked.

"Don't know," Bucky answered, not wasting any time dipping his fork back in for more. "When was the last time you remember me having some?"

Steve thought for a moment, really wanting to remember this right. "It was in France," Steve said slowly, "There was a farm and the family let us, the Commandos, I mean, sleep in their barn. I stayed up all night on watch because I was terrified that the Germans knew we were there, and that they would hurt the family. They had three young kids..."

"I remember," Bucky said, "You didn't want us to stay there, not when you found out there were kids there."

"Yeah, but you were all so keen to sleep with a roof over you. And the couple insisted."

"I think they were impressed that the famous Captain America was in their home."

"Maybe," Steve said, "I mean, yeah, they were because in the morning the wife handed me a wrapped bar of chocolate. You know how scarce that was then? She may as well have been handing me a bar of gold. When you saw it later you looked at it like it _was_ a bar of gold."

Bucky smirked a bit.

"She said she wanted me to have it. She wanted to thank Captain America. She said something in French that I think was 'to keep our spirits up.' My French was still a little rough at the time. Anyway, that night we had to camp outside again and we split the bar seven ways. It was a real treat for all of us, but your face, Bucky...I'll never forget how happy you looked."

Bucky seemed lost in thought for a moment, then shrugged. "Good thing she didn't give the bar to me. I would have just eaten the whole thing myself."

Steve shook his head, smiling, "No you wouldn't have. You were always generous. More likely you would have given it to a random kid or something."

Bucky had the pained look on his face that he got whenever Steve reminded him that he was a good person.

"You gonna eat some of this, or are you watchin' that figure of yours?" Bucky grumbled.

Steve rolled his eyes and dug his fork in. The cake was mostly icing and way too sweet, but Steve couldn't remember enjoying eating anything more.

****

Steve still had a phonograph, or record player, or turntable, or whatever people were calling them these days, in his apartment at HQ. Sam had shown Steve how to listen to music digitally on his phone and laptop, and Steve had managed to find some decent internet radio stations, but Steve still liked the tangibility of records. It was actually the one nostalgic thing that Tony didn’t make fun of him for, because Tony liked listening to music on vinyl, too. This century was weird that way: people seemed to think things were cool that, to Steve, were just the only way of doing things. Like that cocktail bar in Brooklyn that Natasha had taken him to that hand chipped the ice for the drinks off of a giant block.

Steve had a feeling that this century was going to be a lot more fun now that he could share it with Bucky. He hadn’t had anyone to roll his eyes at when someone was talking about intentionally fasting for...health reasons? Boredom? Certainly not because there just wasn’t enough food to eat, which would be the reason Steve was familiar with going hungry.

In lieu of a television, or anything to do really other than suppressing his urges to touch Bucky, Steve thought some music might be nice.

“Dammit,” he swore at the little speaker Sam had left at the house, “I thought I was getting the hang of this stuff.” He frowned at his phone, and then at the speaker, brow furrowed.

Bucky sidled up to him interestedly. “What’re you trying to do?”

“Play music on this speaker from my phone.”

“Do they need to be connected? A wire or something?”

“No,” Steve grumbled, “it’s wireless. It uses Bluetooth.”

“Bluetooth?”

“I have no idea. It’s just called that and it means no wires.”

“Weird. Why do you wanna play music, anyway? You gonna ask me to dance?”

“No!” Steve stammered, a little too quickly and loudly. He could feel his face flush. “I just thought it would be nice, I dunno. Forget it.”

He heard Bucky sigh behind him. “Can the phone play music without a speaker?”

“Yeah, it’s just not very loud.”

“Here,” Bucky held out his hand for the phone and Steve handed it to him. Bucky opened cupboard doors until he found a cereal bowl. He pressed play on the Tommy Dorsey album Steve had cued up and placed the phone in the bowl. The sound immediately filled the room.

“Wow!” Steve said, “That works!”

“Yeah. Basic physics. Don’t need all that fancy tech.”

“Huh.”

“I’ve always been the brains of this operation,” Bucky smirked, giving Steve a nudge with his elbow that sent a jolt through him.

“Yeah, and the looks,” Steve said, “Dunno where that leaves me.”

Bucky gave Steve a once over with his eyes that Steve tried not to be affected by. “Don’t think I’m the good-looking one, Steve. Not these days, anyway.”

Steve disagreed. He vehemently disagreed, but instead he just snorted, “I still forget sometimes that I’m not scrawny. I see a girl looking at me and I forget that, y’know, she's looking at _me._ ”

“Girls _should_ have been looking at you back then,” Bucky said quietly as he leaned back against the countertop. "Bunch of damn idiots if you ask me."

"Well I was always standing next to you. Who's gonna notice a guy who's standing next to the dashing and charming James Buchanan Barnes?" Steve hoped that didn't sound flirtatious.

Bucky folded his arms. Steve idly wondered if that was uncomfortable, with the metal arm. His thoughts ground to a halt when Bucky looked up at him through his lashes. Those long, dark lashes.

"I always saw you, Stevie. Even if everyone else was too stupid."

Steve swallowed. What could he say to that?

Fortunately, he didn’t have to say anything.

“Anyway,” Bucky said, gesturing toward him, “must be doing alright now. With the girls, I mean.”

“Actually, no. I haven’t really...I’ve been pretty busy. And, uh, distracted, I guess.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You seriously telling me you’re not getting a lot of action with that body?”

Steve knew his whole body was flushed red now. He cleared his throat. “No, I’m telling you that I haven’t been getting any action. None. No action,” Steve added, as if he wasn’t being clear.

Bucky stared at him, wide-eyed for a moment, and then he actually _laughed_. A full-on Bucky Barnes Brooklyn laugh.

“Steve!” he gasped, “Jesus Christ! I knew you were hopeless, but _seriously_? You needed me more than I even thought! What the fuck, man?”

“Hey, I’m...I mean, there were dates.”

“How many women have you been with, Steve?”

“I’ve...been around...some women…”

“How many, Steve?”

“If you are asking how many women I’ve...had relations with…” God he sounded like an idiot.

“I’m asking how many women you’ve _fucked_ , if you need it spelled out.”

“None.”

“So you were being serious? You’re, what, a hundred years old?”

“Ninety-six,” Steve grumbled.

“Ninety-six years old and you’re a virgin still? I’m not hearing that wrong, right?”

“No,” Steve said with as much dignity as he could muster, "you're not hearing that wrong."

“Jesus. That is something.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Steve argued.

“Sure,” Bucky grinned, then brought his eyes down to the floor, “I mean, since we’re sharing, I haven’t been with anyone since the war, but it’s not like that was an option for me.”

“No, I’m sorry, Buck, I know.”

“Even thinking about that sort of thing again is pretty new to me. Wasn’t really anything I was even aware of, I guess, when I was...you know.” He made a vague gesture with his hand that Steve translated as ‘a brainwashed Hydra assassin.’

“Is it...something you’re interested in now?” Steve asked. Steve didn’t know why he asked that.

Glacier blue eyes fixed on Steve’s. “You could say that.”

“Oh,’ Steve might have shivered. He was definitely unsettled. He quickly tried to gather himself together before Bucky noticed what he was thinking. “Uh, I’m sure I could maybe find some...I mean, Nat knows some nice girls. She’s always trying to-”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. He seemed incredibly amused by Steve’s flustered rambling.

“Or, y’know, you could just go out sometime. To a bar...or whatever. I mean, I certainly am not much help when it comes to-”

“Steve, relax.”

“I am. I’m...relaxed. I’m fine. Why?”

“I’m not gonna find what I’m looking for in a bar. And I’m not looking to be set up. I’m a total disaster, anyway. Who would want me?”

“I-” _would. I would! Me!_ “I'm sure that someone-” _Coward!_

Bucky sighed and pushed himself off the counter. “I’m gonna go for a walk. I just, I’ll be back.”

 _This again._ Steve wanted to stop him, but he also wanted to let Bucky do what he wanted.

“Ok,” he said.

As Bucky brushed past him, he paused and looked at Steve. His eyes had something important to say, Steve could tell, but it was left unsaid. Instead, Bucky shook his head and kept walking. Steve heard him swear under his breath before we walked out the door.

Steve was good at reading situations. It’s one of the things that made him so effective at his job. He noticed little things in people’s faces that let him know what they were thinking. What their next move was going to be. Even before the serum, he had been good at this, particularly when it came to Bucky Barnes.

This is why it shouldn’t have taken a full five minutes for Steve to figure out what had just happened. What, actually, had been happening since Bucky had shown up at this house.

“Oh my God!” Steve said aloud to the empty room. He then immediately ran to the door and outside, no plan in sight, just a profound feeling of excitement and a desperate plea that he wasn’t wrong about this.

It turned out that Bucky hadn’t gone for a walk at all. He was still standing on the deck, leaning on the railing, looking out at the lake. It was cold, but the sun was setting low over the lake pretty spectacularly. Steve did not care.

“You feel the same way I do!” he blurted out. Bucky turned his head, eyes wide. Steve stood several feet away, arms hanging at his sides, mouth open, stomach twisting. God he hoped he was right.

“About what?” Bucky asked, giving Steve an out. Steve could take it. It was right there, and then this humiliating scene would be over. But something in Bucky’s face, in Bucky’s tone…

Steve was never big on taking the easy way out.

“About us. About me.”

Bucky turned his body this time, and stood up straight to face Steve.

“Depends on how you feel…” he said carefully.

“I love you,” Steve said, feeling simultaneously terrified and relieved, “I’m in love with you, Bucky.”

He watched Bucky’s face go through a million changes in mere seconds. Shock and terror melting into complete, unabashed delight.

“Yeah?” was all he managed to say through a smile that he could not control.

“Yeah, Bucky. Always. Since always.” The terror was leaving Steve. Only excitement and increasing happiness remained.

“Steve,” Bucky said in a quiet, awestruck voice, “Jesus _Christ_ , Steve. Come here.”

Steve did not have to be asked twice. He was in Bucky’s arms so quickly he may as well have been thrown there. And those lips that had driven him crazy for _decades_ were now inches from his own and he could _have them._ He was sure that was what Bucky meant. But he could only stare at them, too overwhelmed to make his move.

Fortunately, Bucky noticed Steve staring, and was a lot less hesitant about these sorts of things than Steve was. He brought their lips together slowly, carefully, and Steve was delirious.

Bucky’s lips were so soft, still after all these years, and as he parted them Steve tasted the lingering chocolate from the cake and something else that he decided was just the unique taste of Bucky. He wanted more, so Steve did something he had not ever dared to do before with the small number of people he’d kissed: he experimentally moved his tongue between Bucky’s parted lips. It made contact with Bucky’s tongue, and he heard Bucky moan deep in his throat. Steve felt the moan buzz against his own tongue, and he just about lost his mind.

Bucky, apparently, did too. He pushed the fingers of his flesh hand into Steve’s hair and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. He plunged his tongue fully into Steve’s mouth and now it was Steve’s turn to moan. Steve had always suspected that Bucky was a great kisser. He was pleased to learn that he had not been wrong. If Steve had ever been kissed like this before he would have had a lot harder time going without it.

Steve wasn’t sure what to do with his hands, so he left them pressed onto Bucky’s upper and lower back. He wasn’t sure what to do with his hips, either, since he now had a very noticeable erection happening. His natural instinct was to try to angle his hips and crotch away from Bucky a bit, because for some reason he felt embarrassed about his arousal, like maybe he shouldn’t be so turned on by a kiss?

Bucky seemed to disagree because he grabbed Steve’s ass with his metal hand and pushed their hips together and — oh — Bucky was as turned on as Steve was.

“Stevie,” Bucky hissed, breaking the kiss but immediately moving his lips to Steve’s throat. Steve loved Bucky’s lips on his throat. He also loved Bucky calling him ‘Stevie’ in _that voice._

“God, Buck,” Steve breathed as Bucky moved his mouth behind Steve’s ear. Steve’s knees felt weak. He daringly moved his hands to Bucky’s hips, which prompted Bucky to rock into him. Steve made a choked noise, and he became very aware that his lack of experience was going to create a very embarrassing and messy situation in a second if they didn’t slow it down.

“Bucky,” he said, his voice shaky but determined, “Buck, just...just wait a minute. Can we..” he took a step back, and Bucky made a noise of protest. Steve grabbed both of Bucky’s hands with his own to reassure him.

“Bucky, I just need a moment here. I’m sorry. I...I wasn’t kidding when I said always. I’ve been waiting a very long time for this.”

“Ok, well, wait’s over,” Bucky said before moving to capture Steve’s mouth again. Steve moved back.

“I just...are you sure? This is what you want, I mean?”

“Thought that was obvious.”

“I know, I mean, I’m not complaining here, I just...I need to know this isn’t…” Steve wasn’t sure how to finish that sentence without insulting Bucky.

Bucky sighed. “You want me to say it all right now? Fine.” He looked away a moment, gathering his thoughts, then turned back to Steve with dark, determined eyes.

“I have loved you so goddamn much, pretty much since I first laid eyes on you. I could barely breathe around you sometimes, Stevie. I would need to keep going out, leave the apartment. That’s what I did to cope with how badly I wanted you. I’d find dames. I’d find...men, sometimes.” Steve’s eyes went wide, but Bucky continued, “You’ve always been what I would cling to when things got dark, Steve. When Zola had me the first time, and after the train...the whole time I was their weapon, I held you inside me somewhere. I held you so tightly they could never take you from me. I thought I was holding onto a ghost at first, then I didn’t think anything anymore…”

Steve swallowed the lump in his throat.

“You’re everything, Steve. To me. And I know the whole world loves you now, and I couldn’t be happier about that, really, but...goddammit, Stevie, I loved you first. I loved you so much and I still love you after everything." He seemed to search for a way to finish his confession before simply shrugging and adding, "I love you.”

Steve stood there, tears prickling his eyes as he struggled for words. Finally, he gave up on words and just crushed his lips to Bucky’s. It seemed like the right thing to say.

They kissed wildly, hungrily, until they needed air. Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve’s and huffed out a laugh. “Jesus, it feels good to finally say that.”

Steve laughed back. “Yeah. I thought I was going to go insane if I didn’t say it soon.”

“We're both idiots.”

“We are.”

"We should go inside."

Steve nodded in agreement, then moved through the door, still holding Bucky's right hand. Tommy Dorsey's orchestra was still playing. They made it just inside before Bucky pressed Steve against the door and began kissing him furiously. Steve tried to give back as good as Bucky gave, but he knew he was probably failing miserably. Bucky didn't seem to notice or mind.

"God, your mouth, Stevie," Bucky murmured against Steve's jaw line, "never get enough of it. Love your mouth."

Steve was a little flabbergasted because he had always been obsessed with Bucky's mouth. He wanted to let him know this, somehow.

"I...your lips...I've always..." he said smoothly. Fuck it. He'd show him the drawings later. For now he cut off his own stammering by capturing Bucky's lower lip with his teeth. It earned him a gasp from Bucky, and suddenly Bucky's hands were on Steve's belt buckle.

Bucky's hands were _opening_ Steve's belt buckle and Steve had a moment of panic before all thoughts were cut off when Bucky ripped open the fly and slid his hand inside.

_Ok, I guess this is happening._

Steve was really out of his element now, and while part of him was shocked and a little mortified, he found that most of him was just really, really excited. Too excited, really. Overcome with happiness and bewilderment and arousal hitting him from all sides. He could almost swear he felt an asthma attack coming on, but he knew it was just…

Bucky _here._ Bucky _kissing him!_ Bucky wrapping his fingers, oh God, around Steve’s _cock_ and no one has ever touched Steve there before. Not like this. Not ever. And now someone _is_ and that someone is _Bucky_ and it’s _2015_ and Steve is…

...absolutely having a panic attack.

“Bucky, Buck...S-sorry. Ahhh...that’s, God. But, can you stop. Sorry. I want to I swear I just...stop, please. For a moment.”

He felt Bucky sigh against him. “Again?”

“Sorry. I’m just...maybe we could go upstairs? Or maybe…”

Bucky slowly unwrapped his fingers and withdrew his hand. He looked seriously at Steve.

“Too much?”

Steve let out a shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. He closed his eyes.

“Yeah, I mean, no. It’s fine, it’s just…”

“You want me to go gentle?” Bucky asked. Steve heard the smirk before he opened his eyes and saw it.

“Yeah,” Steve said, laughing a little, “I guess. It’s just, you know, not something I have much experience with. _Any_ experience with.”

“Well, I can’t promise I’m gonna be any good at it, but I'll be plenty enthusiastic. Come here.”

Bucky placed his flesh hand on Steve’s face and guided their mouths together. The kiss was slow, with Bucky in complete control. Steve melted into it. He felt his breathing even out, the tightness in his chest loosen. They were here. They were here together and they were in love and not afraid of being in love anymore. Steve could do this.

"Upstairs?" Bucky murmured against Steve's mouth.

"Hmm?"

"Upstairs. You wanted to-"

"Oh! Yeah, let's go."

They made it to the bedroom after several stops, one against the fridge, one halfway up the stairs, one at the top of the stairs. Neither wanted to stop kissing the other. Neither could believe they were finally able to.

Finally inside the bedroom, bedside lamp on, Steve was unsure of what to do next. Bucky had some ideas. He started by unbuttoning Steve's plaid flannel shirt, which was already mostly untucked from earlier.

"My memory is a little fuzzy," Bucky said with a surprisingly playful gleam in his eye, "but I seem to recall you having a pretty spectacular body under these clothes."

Steve wanted to scold him for joking about his stolen memories, but instead decided to go along with it. Bucky had always had a dark sense of humour.

"You would remember that," Steve said as he watched Bucky slowly work his way down the row of buttons, "Probably don't remember that you still owe me a Coke from the time I bet you couldn't convince that waitress that you played for the Dodgers."

"What's a Coke?"

"Stop that."

Bucky laughed, so Steve laughed.

Steve wriggled his arms out of his shirt. Bucky looked at him expectantly so Steve rolled his eyes and removed the t-shirt too.

"You planning on taking any of _your_ clothes off, or you just trying to make me look stupid here?" Steve asked. He liked this. Ribbing each other. This was familiar. This was comfortable.

"You don't look stupid," Bucky breathed, eyes dark, "trust me."

Steve caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Bare chested, in the soft low light of the lamp, pants still undone from earlier, belt hanging open, hair mussed, mouth red...he didn't recognize himself. He looked _indecent._

He wanted to make Bucky look the same way.

"I always trust you, Bucky," he said, "but I'm still going to need you to take some clothes off."

Bucky nodded, eyes traveling up and down Steve's body on an unending loop. He unzipped his hoodie, easily slipping it off his right arm before tugging it with some effort off his left. Steve noticed him hesitate before pulling the t-shirt off over his head. After it fell to the floor, Bucky stood there, very still, and turned his head away from Steve.

"Bucky?"

"Not quite how you remember, huh?"

And, no, he didn't look at all how Steve remembered. Besides the metal arm, and the scar tissue, Bucky had considerably more muscle mass, and no chest hair. Steve had never had any, pre-serum, so he never expected to have any now. But Bucky had always had what Steve had considered to be a perfect amount of dark hair on his chest, trailing down his stomach. Just another thing for young Steve to feel jealous of, and to lust after.

It was a little thing, maybe. Unimportant. But its absence now was disturbing.

Steve noticed that Bucky's hands were balled into fists at his sides. He was still looking down and away, not moving. Waiting. For Steve.

 _Oh God._ Waiting for Steve to _inspect him._

"Bucky, hey," Steve said softly, placing a hand on his left shoulder, where metal met flesh, "can you look at me?"

Bucky turned his head, obediently. Steve placed his own face right in front of his. He wanted to say something perfect. What he came up with was,

"Hi."

Bucky looked bewildered, then smiled. "Hi."

Steve slid his hand down over Bucky's heart. "This is still the same," Steve said.

Bucky swallowed. "It still feels the same. About you."

Steve smiled. "I love you, Bucky. All of you. Right now."

Before Bucky could respond Steve leaned down and pressed his lips to the scar tissue on Bucky's shoulder. He would show him he meant it. All of him.

He heard Bucky inhale sharply. Steve moved his hand to Bucky's metal one, now wrapped in a leather glove. He trailed kisses across Bucky's collarbone, up his neck to his jawline.

"Stevie," Bucky breathed. He gripped Steve's hand tightly, then turned his head slightly to capture Steve's mouth.

"You're beautiful, Stevie," Bucky murmured between kisses, "so fucking beautiful. Can I see you? Please? I need to see you."

Steve understood, and the damnedest thing was that he wasn't even uncomfortable about it anymore. He took a step back from Bucky, toed off his sneakers, and moved his hands to the waistband of his own jeans. He kept his eyes on Bucky's face, at his dark eyes and swollen, wet mouth as it hung open in anticipation. He decided to be quick about it and yanked his jeans and boxers down together in one swift movement. He stepped out of them and watched Bucky's eyes take him in.

"Jesus," Bucky whispered, "this all for me?"

"All for you, Bucky. Always."

"I can't believe you've never...fuck, get on the bed, Steve. I'm gonna try to go slow, but _goddammit."_

Steve did as he was told. He tried not to look at his painfully erect cock, though he could follow Bucky's gaze right to it. Steve laid back against the mattress and Bucky was right there with him, crawling over him, taking his mouth, hands planted on either side of Steve's head. He rolled his hips, still in jeans, against Steve's dick and Steve made a noise he didn't know he _could_ make. Bucky grinned against Steve's mouth.

"There's something I've wanted to do to you since Brooklyn, Stevie," Bucky said, his voice dark and rough and absolutely the hottest thing Steve had ever heard, "Will you let me?"

Steve nodded though he didn't know what he was agreeing to. Anything. Anything Bucky wanted from him he could have.

Bucky moved his mouth down to Steve's chest. He lingered over Steve's right nipple, flicking it with his tongue before gently biting it. Steve's hips thrust up involuntarily as he yelped with pleasure and genuine surprise.

Bucky moved lower, nipping along Steve's hipbone, which felt so good Steve was half gasping, half laughing. Bucky's flesh hand moved up the inside of Steve's thigh, and Steve could feel himself trembling. He vaguely knew where this might all be leading, what Bucky's ultimate goal was, but he was still shocked when Bucky's wet, warm mouth descended on his cock. First licking a stripe up the length before rolling his tongue over the swollen, leaking head. Then, to Steve's amazement, wrapping those perfect lips around and down the shaft, almost to the bottom.

"Ahh! Bucky! God!"

Bucky, of course, didn't say anything, but he did look up at Steve through those goddamn eyelashes and Steve was mesmerized. He should be embarrassed, he thought, should maybe close his eyes or look away, but he couldn't. He had to watch this. _Those lips_ wrapped around Steve’s...and sliding up and down while his tongue...and he was doing things to make his mouth and throat _tighter_ …

This was so far beyond Steve’s experience level, and, honestly, beyond anything he had dared to even fantasize. Kissing Bucky, certainly. And maybe he had let his mind consider some...hand stuff. But this. _This._

Nothing had ever felt like this. Everything was tight and tingling and he knew from the tight curl in his abdomen that he had to warn Bucky, like, _now_ that he was going to-

“Bucky! I...I’m gonna…”

Steve expected Bucky to quickly move his mouth away from the line of fire. He did not expect him to swallow him deeper, hungrily devouring Steve’s cock as Steve made a noise like he was in pain and came hard down Bucky’s throat. Bucky still didn’t move, and Steve watched in awe as Bucky swallowed everything and very slowly pulled off with a gentle parting lick to the head.

“Holy shit!” Steve said when he was able to speak. He stared at Bucky wide-eyed, disbelieving. His first orgasm in the presence of another person, and it definitely lived up to the hype.

“You liked that?” Bucky asked, somewhat smugly because he knew the answer. Obviously.

“God, Buck, that was...you really thought about doing that back in Brooklyn?”

“Yep,” he replied as he kissed his way up Steve’s body.

“Even when I was...you know. Before I was like this?”

Bucky paused from where he was kissing Steve’s abs and looked seriously at him. “If you think I didn’t love you when you were smaller, you’re crazy. You were perfect to me. I couldn’t believe no one else saw it.”

Steve didn’t reply because he couldn’t. Bucky continued to talk as he continued to kiss him everywhere.

“You were always beautiful, Stevie. I remember, now, I used to hate myself for the thoughts I had about you. The things I wanted to do to you. Christ, you made me crazy.”

Steve swallowed and found some courage. “What things did you want to do to me?”

“Besides what I just did?” Bucky smirked, “I wanted to wake you up in our bed in the middle of the night with my hand on your dick and my mouth on your neck. I wanted to pin you down on our bed and fuck you until you couldn’t say anything but my name. I wanted to...oh God, I remember eating dinner with you and you were mad at me about some god damn thing and you wouldn’t even speak to me and I just wanted to sweep the whole fucking meal onto the floor and throw you on that table...you always got me so fucking hot when you were mad, Stevie.”

Steve let out a breath he had been holding. “Bucky…”

“I don’t know how I did it, Steve. I don’t know how I lived with you all that time, got drunk with you, _shared a bed_ with you, and never…”

Steve pulled him up to his mouth and kissed him with everything he had. No more denial. No more excuses. No more regrets.

When they pulled apart Steve said, “If you still want to fuck me, I would be alright with that.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, but I am pretty sure your pants are gonna have to come off first.”

“And here I thought you didn’t know how sex worked.”

For that, Steve abruptly flipped Bucky onto his back, Steve now hovering over him. He kissed Bucky quickly before sitting back on his heels and started unlacing Bucky’s boots. He could see how hard Bucky was through his jeans. Steve also realized his own dick hadn’t really softened at all. Bucky noticed too.

“That super soldier serum is good for other things, I see.”

Steve knew at this point he shouldn’t still be embarrassed, but he blushed anyway. “Yeah. I can...I have a lot of stamina. Uh, it can stay like that for a long time. A really long time.”

“Sounds like you’ve run some tests.”

Steve rolled his eyes, and removed the right boot. He started on the left. “I never really had a lot of time to get used to my new body...in private, y’know. Not during the war. But after I woke up here I had a lot of time. And one night I just got to thinking about...well, you, actually, and that led to...you know...and I finished and I was still, uh, like this so I decided to go another round and, uh...another one…”

“Jesus. How many?”

“Oh, I don’t know…”

“How many rounds, Steve?”

Steve removed the left boot. “Eleven,” he said, then glanced up to meet Bucky’s face. Bucky looked elated.

“Holy fuck!”

“Yeah. And the crazy thing is? I think I could have kept going.”

“Jesus. I don’t know what the fuck the shit they pumped into me did to me in that department, but I would love to find out.”

“Then let’s find out,” Steve said, his fingers deftly opening the fly on Bucky’s jeans. Bucky lifted his hips and Steve pulled the jeans off, dropping them on the floor near the discarded boots. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

Bucky shuddered as Steve dipped his head and kissed his along his stomach. Steve wrapped his fingers around the waistband of Bucky’s boxers and tugged them down. Bucky again lifted his hips and Steve removed them and now he could see all of Bucky.

“God, you’re perfect,” Steve said quietly. He meant it. Wholeheartedly.

Bucky snorted, “Hard to feel perfect next to you.”

Steve shook his head. “I mean it, Bucky. I’ve always...there’s no one else for me. You’re breathtaking. Why do you think I’ve drawn you so many times? No one comes close to you, Buck.”

“Stevie…”

“Anything you want to do to me, Bucky. I want it. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Bucky made a choked sound that turned into a growl and then it was his turn to take Steve by surprise and flip him onto his back. Before Steve could react, Bucky’s mouth came down on his almost violently. Steve took it, and gave some back. Bucky could do whatever he wanted. Steve wanted it all. Whatever he had to give.

“Don’t suppose you got any slick around here?” Bucky asked, breathless.

“Vaseline in the top dresser drawer on the right. Nothing fancier than that. Sorry.”

“Works for me.”

Bucky left and came back with the container of Vaseline so quickly Steve barely registered his absence. He dipped the fingers of his right hand in and kneeled between Steve’s legs.

“You ever done this to yourself?” Bucky asked, his fingers hovering between Steve’s thighs. Steve shook his head.

“I think you’re gonna like it,” Bucky said, “Just relax.”

“Ok, Buck. I trust you.”

He noticed Bucky close his eyes for a moment, struggling to not reject the faith Steve placed in him. Then he moved his fingers down to yet another place Steve had never been touched before.

But oh, _oh_ that felt nice. It wasn’t sharp pleasure like Bucky’s hands or mouth on his cock. This was a warm, easy feeling that washed over him. Just...nice.

“This ok, Steve?”

“Mmm...it’s good. I like it.”

“You should see yourself right now, Stevie, all laid out for me like this. You’re still so hard for me. Your mouth is so wet and perfect. Your eyes are so fucking sexy, Steve. God, I love you.”

“I love you, too, Bucky. I love you,” Steve loved saying that. He never wanted to stop saying that.

“Here, bend your knees,” Bucky instructed gently, “I’m gonna get a finger in you, ok? Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Ok.”

Steve felt the finger push into him and it didn’t _hurt_ exactly, but it definitely felt unusual. Bucky went really slow, and Steve was good with pain anyway. Always had been, even before. As he felt himself relax around it, Bucky moved his long finger deep inside him. Then he did something, curled it? Steve didn’t know. What he did know was that he instantly went from being intrigued by a new, unusual sensation to almost whiting out with pleasure.

“Ahh! What did you? God, keep doing that!”

Bucky grinned and curled his finger again against that magical spot inside Steve. Steve’s hips jerked off the bed.

“I’m gonna add another finger, ok?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah...yes, please. More.”

Bucky obliged and Steve felt a second finger slide inside. Then Bucky was working them both in and out, pulling them apart a little. Steve groaned. This was incredible. He had had no idea.

“Ok, last one and then I am going to fuck you for real because I can’t wait another fucking second,” Bucky said in a low voice.

“Oh God…”

A third finger now and Steve was bucking against them. He couldn’t believe how badly he wanted Bucky inside him. He had only vaguely even understood the mechanics of this sort of thing before, so his fantasies had never quite gone here, but Jesus…

“Bucky, before you...can I touch you?"

“Yeah, Steve,” Bucky said, and he glided up Steve's body to kiss him. Steve reached a hand down between them and carefully wrapped his hand around Bucky’s hot, heavy cock. It felt so good in his hand. He had always wondered. He experimented by sliding his thumb over the leaking slit and Bucky gasped.

“Mother of- you can get the Vaseline there, Steve. Slick me up.”

Steve reached for the jar that Bucky had placed on the nightstand. He dug out a good amount and lathered Bucky’s dick with it. Long, slow strokes up and down his hard length, loving the glistening, greasy shine he was giving it.

“I’ve gotta-” Bucky said, his breathing ragged, his voice in pieces, “I can’t wait anymore, Steve.”

Steve slid his hand off, kissed Bucky slowly, and said, “Fuck me, Bucky. No more waiting.”

Bucky slammed his metal hand onto the mattress, eyes closed, composing himself. “You gotta stop saying that, Stevie, ‘else this is gonna be over before it starts.”

Steve grinned but didn’t say another word as Bucky _finally_ lined up and pushed into him. Bucky’s whole body was trembling, and his eyes were wild, pupils blown. Steve loved the feeling of being filled up. Of finally, _finally_ having Bucky inside him. Where he belonged.

The first thrust made Steve’s eyes roll back in his head. Bucky hit _that spot_ again and it sent sparks of pleasure through Steve’s body. Encouraged by the noises Steve made, Bucky kept thrusting, harder and faster. Steve moved his hips, tried to keep a rhythm. Bucky made a very appreciative sound.

Somewhere in the back of Steve’s mind he was congratulating himself on no longer being a virgin, officially. But most of him was just overcome with intense pleasure and happiness. If he could just do nothing but this for the rest of his life with Bucky…

The heat was starting to coil inside him again, so soon, as Bucky kept hitting that spot over and over. As Bucky looked down on him with dark eyes and swollen, red lips. Short hair sticking in all directions. Obscenities falling from that perfect fucking mouth.

“Touch yourself,” Bucky said, “come on, Steve, I wanna see you stroke that big, perfect cock.”

Steve wanted to say something smartass back, but he could only groan and do as he was told. He wrapped his strong fingers, still a little slick with the remnants of the Vaseline, around himself and immediately shuddered. This would not take long.

“Yeah, show me,” Bucky instructed, his voice strained, “I want to see you come all over yourself.”

“Fuck…”

“Love it when you swear, Stevie. I know you save it for me. Goddammit you feel good. I’m not gonna...fuck, I can’t last much longer...”

Steve stroked himself hard and fast, almost painfully, until he felt everything inside him shatter and he came in bursts against his own stomach. It hit his chest and neck. Neverending.

Bucky was impressed. “Holy shit, Steve. So much. What the fuck? So beautiful, so beautiful, ah God I’m gonna-”

“Yeah, Buck, come on.”

Bucky let out the most beautiful noise Steve had ever heard and came deep inside before collapsing on him. There was a mess between them but neither man cared.

“Steve, you beautiful fucking...that was...holy _shit_ , right?”

Steve laughed, breathless, “Yeah, Buck. That was.”

Bucky kissed him as he slowly, carefully pulled out. Steve felt the loss keenly.

“You can kiss that virginity goodbye,” Bucky said.

“Knew I was saving it for something,” Steve smirked.

 

****

Later, after they both got themselves cleaned up, they lay together in bed. Steve was on his back with Bucky curled on his side, head resting on Steve’s chest.

“So I see you can grow sideburns now,” Bucky said.

“You gonna make fun of my hair now?”

“I was just thinking about your patchy as fuck facial hair when you you were little.”

Steve smiled, “Ah well. I never had to worry about shaving much. Not like you.”

Bucky sighed against him, breath dancing across Steve’s chest.

“I can’t believe we could have been doing this back then,” Steve said.

“We woulda had to be a lot quieter about it.”

“And it probably would have killed me. I mean, actually killed me.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t have let that happen. I’da taken good care of you.”

“You always took good care of me, Bucky.”

“Well, you’re making up for it now, I guess.”

“I love you,” Steve said, for the millionth time that night. He kissed the top of Bucky’s head. “I’m happy. I don’t think I’ve been happy a day of my life until now. Not really.”

Bucky traced a finger over the lines of Steve’s abdominal muscles. “What happens now?” he asked.

Steve considered the question for a moment before answering. It was a big one.

“Well, eventually we will have to go home. Together. Because I’m not going anywhere without you. And you’re going to keep getting better and I’m going to keep taking care of you. And we are going to love each other and do a lot more of what we just did.”

“I like this plan,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to Steve’s ribs.

“Yeah? You’ll stay with me? Because I don’t want to live another second without you, Bucky.”

“If you’ll have me.”

“Yeah, I’ll have you. ‘Til the end of the line, right?”

Bucky snorted. “Not sure I woulda agreed to that if I’d known the line was going to be this goddamn long.”

Steve laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my lord, I can't tell you how I agonized over that sex scene. Anyway, I hope it was satisfying. 
> 
> One chapter left! Thanks for all the feedback, everyone! Oh, and I just created a tumblr site for my fic life. Same name! It'll be full of fangirl love of superheroes and the actors who play them soon enough!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Steve took a breath. “Sam, Natasha, I’d like you to meet Bucky.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how late this is. I was having a terrible time wrapping it all up. If it helps, I decided to add an epilogue chapter, which I will be posting immediately with this one.

They didn’t sleep that night. Neither man needed it and neither man wanted it. Not now that they could have _this_. Wasting minutes on something as ridiculous as sleep was unfathomable to either of them when there were new places to explore with hands and mouths. New sounds to draw out of each other. New, unfamiliar feelings of complete and utter happiness…

They were like two kids on Christmas Eve. In the small hours of the morning Steve had halfheartedly suggested they should try to get some rest. The attempt lasted exactly until Bucky began tracing idle circles on Steve’s inner thigh from where he lay curled against Steve, head on his chest. He had pulled a low moan out of Steve that sent them both off to the races for the fourth time that night.

At some point the following morning, Steve declared that they both needed to shower. Bucky had protested at first, but was unable to resist following Steve’s naked form as it exited the bedroom.

The shower at the cottage was small, and certainly nothing fancy. Steve considered the much more spacious and luxurious shower at his HQ apartment and the potential it held when he eventually returned there with Bucky. For now this one would do for lazy morning making out under a narrow stream of almost-hot water.

“So, you don’t have to worry about getting the arm wet?” Steve asked as they were toweling off in the bedroom after.

“No, they thought of that when they designed it,” Bucky said, fondly adding, “idiot.”

Steve rolled his eyes, but truly did feel a little stupid for asking. Of course it was waterproof. River rescue and all that.

“I guess it would be pretty easy to stop you if someone just had to throw water at you,” Steve said.

“Like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Steve beamed. “You know, people still talk about that movie. Stood the test of time, I guess.”

“You loved that movie.”

“I loved sitting next to you at that movie,” Steve corrected, blushing a little. “It was a long movie.” It felt so good to admit these things.

Bucky grinned and stepped toward him, towel hitting the floor.

“Thought you just related to the Scarecrow, not having any brains.”

“God you’re a jerk.”

“Dumb punk.”

Mouths collided and Bucky’s hand immediately found its way to Steve’s cock, already half hard from the shower. Steve groaned against Bucky’s mouth. It was pretty clear that nothing else was getting done that day.

Steve suddenly found the courage, brains, and heart to attempt something he had been considering all night. As gently as possible, he pushed Bucky onto the bed. He took a moment to take in Bucky’s sprawling, naked body. All of it, metal and flesh, stunning and wonderful and being offered to Steve. 

“I’m probably going to do a terrible job of this,” Steve said in a low voice, crawling between Bucky’s spread thighs. He could see Bucky biting his lower lip in anticipation. “But I really want to try.”

“I promise you, Stevie, I’m gonna like it,” Bucky said, eyes wide and fixated on Steve’s mouth as Steve brought it down to the head of Bucky’s cock. He paused a moment, lips hovering, before he gave it an experimental lick. Bucky shuddered. Encouraged, Steve swirled his tongue around the head, over the slit, and then wrapped his lips around the shaft just below. Bucky arched off the bed.

“God, yes, Stevie,” he gasped, “I can’t tell ya... _Christ_...how many times I thought about this. That fucking mouth of yours…”

Steve, unable to speak, raised an interested eyebrow as he took more of Bucky into his mouth. He liked it. It was weird, but it felt good. He felt powerful.

Bucky must have noticed the questioning eyebrow, because he kept talking.

“You’d get so mad at me sometimes. Just stupid stuff, and you’d...God, that lip would come out, all pouty. I wasn't kidding, Stevie, about when you were angry. How crazy it made me. I'd get so turned on I couldn't even... _fuck_ that feels good!"

Steve wanted to tell Bucky about watching him wrap his lips around bottlenecks and about sweaty dance halls and unbuttoned shirts and having to jerk off to keep himself from jumping Bucky. He wanted to, but he doubted he'd ever be able to. He wasn't surprised Bucky was so good at dirty talk. He was a little surprised at how much he, Steve, loved listening to it. 

Steve took Bucky into his mouth deep enough to hit the back of his throat. He sputtered a bit, quickly recovered, and tilted his head to take the rest of him in. He tasted salty and a little like the soap from the shower. He wanted Bucky to keep telling him the dirty thoughts he used to have about Steve, but it seemed Bucky was unable to speak at all now. Steve saw his fists grab hard at the bedsheets, heard unintelligible noises mixed with Steve's name and profanities. 

Steve splayed a hand over Bucky's thigh and rubbed a thumb over his balls, hard and tight. He felt Bucky trembling a bit, struggling to keep himself from thrusting into Steve's mouth. Steve bobbed his head up and down, trying to keep an even rhythm, trying to make his mouth tight like Bucky had. He wanted to be so good at this for Bucky. 

When Bucky came it took Steve by surprise. Bucky had probably tried to warn him, but Steve had been so focused on what he had been doing. Most went down his throat but some fell across his open lips as he pulled off in astonishment. He had done it! Mission accomplished. 

Bucky stared at Steve's defiled face and no doubt swollen lips, and made a noise that was almost a whine. Steve hastily wiped the back of his hand over his mouth to clean up the mess and grinned. 

"Steve, Jesus fucking...get up here. Fucking _now!_ "

Steve obeyed, moving up to kiss Bucky, who did not seem to mind at all that Steve definitely still tasted like his come. He seemed pretty into it, actually, plunging his tongue deep into Steve's mouth like he couldn't get enough of it. 

Later, after Bucky had returned the favour in a manner that bordered on competitive, they finally managed to get dressed and headed downstairs. Neither of them could ignore how hungry they were anymore. 

Steve made coffee and Bucky started hauling a wide array of things out of the fridge and pantry. He toasted the raisin bread they had bought, and buttered it heavily. He cut up cheese and apples and peeled oranges. He broke a chocolate bar into pieces. He shoved his hand into a bag of chocolate chip cookies and put two of them in his mouth at once. Steve laughed. 

"What?" Bucky asked through a mouthful of cookie, crumbs flying. 

"You call this making breakfast?"

"Fuck you, I'm hungry. Must be afternoon by now anyway."

"Almost," Steve smiled, handing Bucky a mug of coffee. 

Bucky went to sit at the table. Steve grabbed his phone from where it still sat in the cereal bowl on the counter. There was a message from Natasha. 

_How is he?_

Steve saw that the message was from last night. He hoped she hadn't been worrying. 

_Doing really well. Sorry for the late reply._

She immediately responded. 

_I was kind of hoping the lack of response might mean you were too...busy..._

Steve grinned like an idiot at his phone for so long that Bucky noticed. 

"What’re you staring at with that dumb look on your face?"

"What? Nothing! Just texting Nat. She just....wanted to know how you were doing."

"Yeah? What'd you tell her?"

"I told her that you-" Steve had taken too long to reply to Nat and now she was hitting him with a barrage of messages. 

_Steve, I was kidding. Sorry. Is everything alright, seriously?_

_Do you need anything? Do you want us to come up there?_

_Sam has some good advice for you. You should call him._

Steve glanced from his phone to Bucky. "She's worried about you."

Bucky snorted. "Worried about _me_ , or worried about me killing you?"

"Both, honestly."

Bucky sighed. "Gimme the phone."

Bucky held out his metal hand and Steve placed the phone in it, momentarily worried that Bucky was going to just crush it to smithereens. Instead, Bucky took a photo of himself smiling and giving a thumbs up. It was absurdly goofy. Steve was stunned. 

"There, I sent it to her," Bucky said, "Should reassure her that I'm not, you know..."

Steve desperately wished he could see Natasha's face when she gets that photo. For now he laughed. This side of Bucky's personality, the playful charm, he really hadn't expected to see even a hint of that for a long time, if ever again. 

Steve joined him at the table. "Would you mind if Natasha and maybe Sam came up here? In a few days, maybe?" He saw Bucky tense up at the suggestion. "I just...I mean, you know we're going to have to leave this place eventually, and I thought maybe we could sort of...ease into being around other people, you know? And Nat and Sam are really great people. I trust them with my life."

Bucky didn't say no. He didn't say anything. Steve continued. 

"And, ah, Sam is a counselor. For veterans. He has a lot of good advice for soldiers who have been through trauma...I mean, I know you're maybe an extreme case, but I'll bet he could help you."

Bucky looked very doubtful, but still didn't say anything. 

"And Nat, well, she might have a lot in common with you, actually. You heard of the Red Room?"

Bucky's eyes went wide, a little afraid, and he nodded. 

"Yeah, well, that's where she came from. Former Soviet assassin."

"Jesus, you just going around befriending Soviet assassins, Steve?"

Steve smirked. "Guess I have a type."

"You sure there's nothing between you and her?"

"No! God, why does everyone- hey, fuck you."

Bucky laughed, then said, "Yeah, alright."

"Yeah alright to what? The fucking or..."

"To your friends coming here. You're right. It would be good to ease into it. But also yes to the fucking."

Steve was about to make a smart aleck reply, but Bucky was suddenly picking up his phone again. 

"Looks like she got the picture. What the fuck does WTF mean?"

"It means 'what the fuck.' Give me that."

Bucky handed the phone over. Steve saw the rest of Nat's messages. 

_WTF?! What did you do to him?!_

_How does he look so happy?_

_You told him, didn't you?_

Steve smiled and wrote,

_We told each other._

A moment later she replied, 

_Steve!_

Steve told her he would call her later. 

****

The thing that Steve and Bucky did the most of over the next couple of days was talk. 

Now that almost a century’s worth of sexual tension had been resolved, both men were thrilled to have their best friend back. Steve had so much to tell Bucky, and Bucky had so much to ask Steve.

"What were the aliens like?" Bucky asked. 

Steve looked up from where he was reading news bulletins on his phone. 

"Aliens?"

"Yeah, the aliens you fought in New York. Or was it not memorable?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Well, I didn't really get to know them very well, but I can tell you I'd never been more terrified in my life. I mean, besides the day you..." Steve cleared his throat, "Anyway. The aliens were...kind of hard to take, you know? I'd just woken up, and was still grappling with that and then, boom, alien invasion."

"Woulda been nice if they'd started you on something easy?"

"Yeah. But you know what else I was thinking that day? 'If only Bucky could see this!' I knew you woulda, well, not loved it, but...it was something."

"And the robots you were fighting? With the flying city? Those weren't aliens?"

"No. Those were, ah...kind of a self-made problem we caused. Tony caused. Bruce helped, but I still know it was at least ninety-nine percent Tony's fault."

"Bruce?"

"Yeah, he's the big green guy. I mean, he turns into the big green guy. You know, the Hulk?"

"Right. You have weird friends."

Steve laughed, then said excitedly, "Hey, one of my friends is an alien!"

"Yeah?" 

"Thor, you know, the-"

"Norse god of thunder?"

"Yeah, sort of? Anyway, he's an alien. Him and his brother, who I am not so keen on."

"Really weird friends."

"They're not weird. Sam and Rhodes are ex-military. Just normal guys with high tech suits. Really amazing fighters, though. Natasha I told you about. Tony is...you get used to him. Clint's a good guy, really useful in a fight. Keeps to himself, though. Keeps a lot of stuff to himself.”

“And the rest? They _normal_ too?”

“Just...uh, Vision. He’s, like, a robot. Sort of. And Wanda. She’s, um, magic.”

“Uh-huh.”

Steve shot him a look, then shrugged. “It’s nice not to be the biggest freak in the room. I like it.”

“You ain’t even the biggest freak in the room right now.”

“Well, that was always the case with you, Buck.”

****

“How did you get here, anyway, Bucky?”

“Get where?”

“Here. To this house. In the woods. In the middle of nowhere.”

Bucky didn’t look up from the issue of _Sports Illustrated_ that Sam had left behind.

“I stole a motorcycle from a Hydra base.”

“Wouldn’t that have a tracker or something?”

“Not when I was done with it.”

“Where’s the bike now?”

“In the woods. Maybe a mile away. Didn’t want you to hear me coming.”

“You planning on getting it?”

“Nah.”

A silence fell between them. Then Bucky changed the subject.

“Dodgers are gone, I see.”

“Well, moved to Los Angeles, so may as well be, yeah.”

“Who are we supposed to root for? The fucking Yankees?”

Steve laughed. “According to Sam, yes. But I can’t bring myself to do it. There’s a new team, I mean, they are like fifty years old or something, the Mets? I asked Sam about them and he just shook his head.”

“Baseball looks pretty different these days anyway.”

“Everything looks pretty different these days.”

“‘cept you.”

"Yeah, well.”

****

“How long you figure we’re gonna look like this?”

Steve was startled by the question, which came as he was figuring out how to make a meatloaf. 

“I don’t know, Bucky. I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, no, I mean, yeah I’ve thought about it a little I guess. No one ever told me, when I got the serum, about life expectancy or aging or anything. And the whole being frozen thing kind of adds another layer of weirdness to it. I’ve only really been alive, post serum, for a few years so I wouldn’t have aged that much even normally.”

“I would be about thirty, right? If you subtract all the time in cryo?”

“Yeah. We both would be.”

Bucky poked an onion that was on the counter with a metal finger. He watched it roll away.

“I feel a hell of a lot older than thirty.”

Steve looked at him. “Me too.”

****

"It's still weird, you know."

"What's weird?" Steve asked. He was curled up in bed with Bucky, and had thought he was asleep before he heard him speak.

"You being this size."

Steve pinched his arm lightly. "All that's happened with us and you're still not over that?"

"Nope. Still remember sharing that little bed with you back in Brooklyn, having you in my arms. You fit perfectly."

"Well now I get to hold you. Not so bad, is it?"

"No. Not complaining. I just liked my little Stevie. Wish I'd had the guts to show you how I felt back then. Woulda liked to have known what it would have been like to touch you properly before you turned into a damn action figure."

Steve kissed the top of Bucky's head. 

"I liked sharing that bed with you back then. I liked being held by you. And I always felt loved, even if we couldn't say it."

Bucky squeezed Steve's hand. 

"Remember that first night we slept together during the war," Bucky said, "You were curled around me like this and I couldn't sleep a wink. It felt too damn weird."

"I remember that. But what I remember is loving being able to finally hold you like I'd always wanted to. All wrapped up safe and warm. I slept like a baby that night."

Bucky didn't reply. Steve thought maybe he had drifted off to sleep until he heard a sniffle in the dark. 

"Bucky? Buck, are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said in a wet voice. 

"Jeez, Buck. Are you crying?"

Another sniff and then. "I'm ok. Just...I just love you so fucking much."

Steve felt his own eyes stinging a bit. "I know, Buck. I know. I love you."

****

"Have you been to a movie theatre in this century?"

Bucky appeared in the doorway to the bathroom where Steve was shaving. 

"No," Bucky said flatly, "Hydra didn't send me on a lot of fun movie outings."

Steve grimaced. "Well, we'll have to go sometime. You won't even believe what they're like these days, Buck. First time I went to one I couldn't believe what I was seeing. And you should see what cartoons look like now!"

"They still have popcorn?"

"Yeah, but it costs a small fortune. It's way too salty, too."

"People still make out in movie theatres?”

“Yeah, I think so. People seem to make out everywhere these days.”

Bucky leaned against the door frame, arms folded. Steve heard him snort out a laugh.

“What?”

“Just thinking,” Bucky said, “about how we never coulda...it’s weird to be alive in a time where it’s ok for two guys to be together. In public and everything.”

Steve smiled. “It’s awesome, is what it is!”

Bucky grinned back. “Yeah. It is.”

****

On Friday Steve suggested they leave the house. He had looked up hiking trails on his phone and found one that looked good. It was about a forty minute drive away. 

They talked the whole way there. Bucky asked Steve about television and shopping malls and what words people don't say anymore. Steve asked how many languages Bucky speaks. Bucky didn’t know. Steve told him that Natasha had been teaching him Russian, in case it would be helpful in finding him. Bucky says that he never wants to speak Russian again. 

They parked near the trailhead and within minutes of walking they were enveloped by serene evergreen forest. They walked in silence for awhile, just enjoying the soothing quiet of nature. Steve walked in front, Bucky followed. 

"It's weird," Bucky said, "walking through the woods like this. No mission."

"Yeah, part of me is still listening for an aerial attack," Steve admits, "Not used to feeling safe in the forest."

"I keep scanning the trees for enemies."

"How long ago does it feel for you?" Steve asked, "The war?"

"Don't know. Not long. Everything is pretty mixed up. Can't quite remember what order things happened in, but if I think about you I can remember better."

Steve felt both sad and touched. "It feels like three years ago for me. Not long at all."

They walked for about an hour before Steve felt Bucky's flesh fingers gently grab his left hand. He pulled him off the trail slightly to an open spot surrounded by tall fir trees. It was almost like a little room in the middle of the forest. 

Steve smiled to himself. Bucky had always been the one to notice things that Steve missed. Steve had always been the one looking ahead, determined, sometimes lost in thought. Bucky would point things out to him as they walked through Brooklyn. 

Now he had found this place. Holding Steve's hand, he led him to the base of the largest tree that bordered the clearing. He separated their hands so he could remove his jacket and lay it on the ground before inviting Steve down with him. Bucky sat with his back to the tree and patted his lap. Steve smiled and lay his head on Bucky's thigh like he had gotten Bucky to do that night during the war. Like that night in the cottage, days ago, before they confessed everything. Like Bucky had gotten Steve to do so many times when Steve was feverish and small. 

With his head on Bucky's lap and tall trees towering above him, Steve felt small again. It was a nice feeling, now that he knew it would end. Bucky's fingers combed through Steve's hair as he gazed down at Steve's upturned face. It was cold and Bucky's breath huffed out it light clouds around his face. He looked beautiful. 

"Tell me about where you live," Bucky said.

"What, at HQ? It's just an apartment, really. We all live together there."

"Nice?"

Steve laughed. "A lot nicer than our place in Brooklyn, if that's what you're asking. It has hot water."

"You ain't worried about spoiling me?"

"Nah, you’re gonna love it. It’s very futuristic. Even for the future.”

“And what’s gonna happen when I get there?”

“What do you mean?”

“What happens when people find out who I am, what I’ve done? That I’m alive?”

Steve lifted his head and turned, “We’ll face it together, Bucky. Like I said, I know people who can help you. And I don’t want you to have to hide anymore.”

“Maybe it would be easier…”

Steve sat up fully and placed a hand firmly on the side of Bucky’s face. “No. You’re the best thing in my life, Bucky. I’ve waited too long to have you here with me...I want to do this for real.”

Bucky looked stunned. What had he expected, Steve wondered. “So, we’re not just letting the world know I’m still alive, we’re letting them know…”

Steve trailed a finger down Bucky’s cheek to his jawbone. “We won’t say anything you’re not comfortable with, Bucky. But, yeah, I want the world to know that James Buchanan Barnes is a hero, a prisoner of war, a survivor, and...the love of Captain America’s life.”

Bucky laughed, a little wetly, “You make it sound easy.”

“It might not be,” Steve admitted, “But when have things ever been easy for us? And I’ve never wanted something more. I’ll fight for this.”

Bucky smiled and quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “You’re such a fucking sap,” he grumbled.

Steve kissed him, and then returned his head to Bucky’s lap. The ground was cold but he was so perfectly content. His eyelids drifted shut after Bucky returned his fingers to Steve’s hair.

A few minutes of silence and then Steve was started to hear something he hadn’t heard since…

Bucky was singing. So softly Steve almost couldn’t hear it above the gentle wind, but he would know the sound anywhere. Steve held his breath, not wanting to miss a note. Bucky used to do this when Steve was sick. Maybe he hadn’t even been aware that Steve had been conscious during those times. Some of Steve’s favourite memories were of Bucky’s gentle fingers pushing sweat-soaked hair of Steve’s brow while singing soft songs to him. He had always loved his singing voice, even though it was saved for those quiet, secret moments, or for when Bucky was drunk and happy.

Steve recognized the song. _You Go to My Head_. He smiled. Bucky noticed.

“Sorry,” Bucky said quickly.

“Don’t be,” Steve murmured. “Love your voice. Always loved listening to you sing to me.”

“I didn’t know you were listening when I used to…”

Steve opened one eye. Smirked. “Woulda been rude to fall asleep when you were singing me love songs.”

Bucky pulled a face of mock annoyance which quickly melted into a smile.

“Told ya I loved you back then. Can’t believe you never figured it out.”

“Well, I was pretty dumb.”

****

They stopped at the farm market on the way home because Steve thought Bucky would like it. 

The harvest season was nearing its end. The market was mostly full of apples, potatoes, squash and pumpkins. Steve watched Bucky as he tugged the glove off his right hand and ran his fingers over the large gourds. 

Steve brought a bag of apples to the cash. He asked the cashier to add a block of fudge when he caught Bucky staring at it.

****

On the couch that night, Steve sitting and Bucky curled up against him. For lack of anything better to watch, they let themselves be entertained by the fire in the woodstove. Steve had an arm draped loosely around Bucky, curling around his waist. Bucky’s head lay tucked just under Steve’s shoulder, his metal hand tracing lines on Steve’s chest and stomach.

“You sure you’re ok with Sam and Nat coming tomorrow?” Steve asked.

Bucky's hand stilled. "No, but...it’s fine. I know it’ll be fine.”

“It will be,” Steve promised.

Silence fell and Bucky's fingers resumed their path. 

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"I just...I want you to know...I like your new body."

Steve laughed. "Well thanks."

"I mean it. I know I keep sayin' I miss the old Steve but...this body suits you. And I'd be lyin' if I said it hadn't...distracted me during the war."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. I, uh, I really liked the uniform."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Really? You know, I have a new uniform."

"I know. I saw in magazines. Newspapers."

"I could...show you. When we get back to HQ."

"Is it hard to take off? It looks...tight."

Steve pressed his mouth to the top of Bucky's head and murmured, "I've gotten pretty good at removing it. I could teach you...or just _show_ you."

He heard Bucky groan softly. 

"That damn uniform gave me a lot of ideas back then," Bucky said. 

"Yeah? Like what?" Steve held his breath. 

"Ask me later," Bucky said, turning his head to press a kiss against Steve's rib cage. "Ask me when I'm buried inside of you. I'll tell you anything then."

****

_Later._

"Wanted...fuck...wanted to fucking _ruin_ you in that costume, Stevie,” Bucky growled before he pulled back and thrust hard into Steve. “Everyone thought you were some sorta saint and I knew, I fucking _knew_ you. I knew you were that same punk from Brooklyn that I got drunk with and used to dare me to do the dumbest shit.”

Steve tried to reply, wanting more, but couldn’t form words. He looked at Bucky with eyes that he hoped were pleading. He _needed_ to hear more.

“Sometimes when we were paired alone on missions it was all I could think about. Just wanted to throw you against a wall or a tree or a fucking _tank_ and take you apart. Undo all those fucking straps and push that ridiculous shirt up... _God_...wanted to get on my knees for you, Steve. Wanted to do that so bad when you were wearing that uniform. Look up and see Captain fucking America standing above me getting so hot for me. Wanted to see your face when you came. Wanted to be the one who got to see that.”

“Jesus, Bucky…” Steve managed.

“Remember... _agh_...when we were sharing your officer’s room one night you had the pants on, but no shirt, just your dog tags dangling in front of that perfect chest and I don’t know...I don’t know how I made it through that night. Thought I was gonna die that night, swear to God, Stevie.”

“I _wanted_ you to look, Buck. I was showing off for you. God, I remember. I didn’t think…”

Bucky came with a loud cry that almost sounded like a sob, eyes squeezed tight. Steve followed immediately. 

“Jesus Christ, Steve,” Bucky murmured into his neck after. His voice was high, almost frantic, “Don’t tell me that. Don’t tell me you wanted me that night. I can’t handle that. Fuck, really?”

“Really.”

“Fuck. _Fuck._ ”

“You have me now, Buck. And I still have the dog tags somewhere…”

Bucky shook with laughter against him and it was the best thing Steve had ever felt.

 

****

Bucky had gotten the Bluetooth speaker to work. It turned out Bucky was pretty skilled when it came to modern technology. He told Steve not to ask because he wasn’t sure if he could give him an answer.

Bucky had been very interested in the library of music that had been loaded onto Steve’s phone by several people who were not Steve. When Steve walked down the stairs late Saturday morning, he was met by a wall of, well, _noise_ coming from the surprisingly loud speaker.

Steve didn’t recognize the music, but he was sure it was something Tony had put on there.

“I think Stark put that on there,” Steve said, somewhat apologetically, “his tastes are a little…”

“I like it,” Bucky said.

“You do? I don’t even know what it is or when it’s from. Kind of have a hard time believing this is where music ended up, you know?”

“Led Zeppelin. And it’s like forty years old.”

“Jeez, really?”

“Yeah. We woulda been old men anyway when this came out, if things had gone normally for us.”

Steve tried to listen more closely to the music. To hear past the onslaught of noise to the elements of the song. Try to find the appeal. It was something he really hadn’t made an effort to do in this century. 

Bucky reached his hand out and Steve took it without hesitation. He allowed himself to be pulled toward his friend (boyfriend?!). Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, kissed him. Then Steve noticed that his hips were being moved in time with Bucky’s, who had somehow managed to find a rhythm in the music. Of course he had. It was Bucky.

“Always wanted to dance with you, Stevie,” Bucky breathed against Steve’s ear.

Steve laughed through his sudden arousal, “This the kind of music you pictured us dancing to?”

“It’s kinda sexy, don’tcha think?”

Maybe it was because Steve was programmed to think immediately of Tony Stark whenever he heard music like this, but he had never considered hard rock to be sexy. Before.

“I could maybe be convinced,” he said, tilting his head back and gasping as Bucky bit lightly just under his jawline. Bucky’s hands moved to Steve’s hips, thumbs dipping just below his waistband as his mouth moved down Steve’s throat. The music got louder, building into a wild crescendo. Steve moaned. He could definitely get into this music.

This is the exact scene that greeted Natasha and Sam when they walked into the house, at least an hour earlier than Steve had been expecting them.

Steve was so shocked he shoved Bucky off of him, causing the former assassin to collide gracelessly with the refrigerator. 

“Jesus, what the fuck, Steve?! Oh.”

“Woah,” Sam said, hand shielding his eyes.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Nat said. “Wait, are you guys making out to Led Zeppelin?”

“No! I mean...” Steve stammered as he grabbed his phone and paused the music, “Just...shut up. Hi. Thanks for coming, by the way.”

Bucky cautiously moved to stand beside Steve, never taking his eyes off the new arrivals. 

“If I’d known I would have brought black lights, incense…” Natasha continued, smirking.

“Weed,” Sam contributed, “Wait, are you guys going through the decades? Were you making out in the back seat of a car to the Beach Boys yesterday?”

“Can we drop it?” Steve asked, annoyed both by the teasing and by having no idea what Sam was talking about. Also, Natasha thought whatever Sam had just said was hilarious.

Steve took a breath. “Sam, Natasha, I’d like you to meet Bucky.”

Sam immediately crossed the room with his hand outstretched. “It’s an honour to finally meet you properly, sir. Sam Wilson.”

Steve glanced at Bucky, who, with some hesitation, took Sam’s hand and shook it. 

“I, uh, I think I owe you an apology,” Bucky said, “Both of you.”

“No, sir. I’m just glad to see you back on the right side.”

“You can drop that ‘sir’ stuff. Just Bucky is fine. Please. It’s, uh, nice to have my name back, y’know.”

Natasha approached him. She kept her hands to herself, but she looked at Bucky with a mixture of curiosity and awe. “Sorry for teasing you guys, Bucky. How are you?”

When most people ask ‘how are you?’ they don’t really care about the answer, or even expect an honest one. Natasha asks it like she’s gathering essential information, and that she’ll know if you’re lying.

“How long you got?” Bucky asks with a half laugh.

Natasha studied his face a moment. “Steve treating you well?”

Steve could have sworn Bucky was blushing. A little.

“Yeah,” he said, flesh hand pawing nervously at the back of his own neck, “he’s, uh, he’s treating me real well.”

“Do you mind Sam and me being here?”

“No. It’s fine. I know I’ve gotta...learn to be around other people, y’know? And Steve vouches for you guys, so that’s good enough for me.”

“Well, we feel the same way about you, Bucky. And I think we all have a pretty high opinion of Steve here, so we at least have one thing in common.”

“Heard you might have a few more things in common with me,” Bucky said, then looked like he immediately regretted it. “Sorry. None of my business.”

“No, you’re right,” Natasha said, not at all fazed by his forwardness, “and we can talk about that later, if you like.”

Bucky just nodded, looking a little overwhelmed by her offer. Her easy openness about their horrific pasts.

“Has Steve been feeding you ok?” Sam asked, “Or has it just been cereal and bags of chips?”

“Hey!” Steve said, “I’ve been cooking lots of stuff!”

“It’s true,” Bucky said, jumping to Steve’s defense like always, “he made meatloaf the other night and it was delicious.”

Steve bit back a smile because the meatloaf had really, really not been delicious.

“The place is spotless,” Natasha observed.

“Because Steve won’t stop cleaning it,” Bucky said. “Can tell you he was never this damn tidy back in Brooklyn.”

Natasha looked at Steve, eyebrow raised, a smile on her lips. _He remembers!_ Steve smiled back.

The room fell silent and it occurred to Steve that he had no actual plan for how this day was going to go. He knew Bucky felt like this was a three-on-one situation. He could tell by his body language that he wanted to get the hell out of there.

Steve began to devise a strategy. It was sloppy at best, but the operative was to reduce the number of people in the room with Bucky as quickly as possible.

“Nat, can I talk to you in private?” he asked, and he knew it was coming straight out of the blue and sounded weird. “Bucky, you good to hang out with Sam here for a bit? I’ll be right outside.”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky said, sounding not at all sure, “Uh, are _you_ alright with being alone with me, Sam?”

“Steve’s filled me in on the situation,” Sam said, “So, yes, I’m alright being alone with you.”

Sam gave Steve a nod and Steve, with a parting glance at Bucky, exited the house with Natasha. Once outside, they walked to the Adirondack chairs on the lawn and settled themselves. Steve exhaled as he sat, trying to shake some of the anxiety gnawing at him.

“He’s doing great,” Nat said, “I actually can’t believe it. It’s incredible!”

“He’s, um, yeah. He’s really...he’s _back_ , Nat!”

Natasha leaned toward him, tilting her head. Steve waited for what he was sure were going to be difficult words.

“Do you have a plan for how to reintroduce him to the world?”

Steve shook his head. “Not yet. But we agree, I think, that we’re not going to keep him a secret. The public needs to know his story, all the gory details, so he can live in the world again.”

“Speaking from experience, I think that might be the best idea. Rip the bandage off quickly. But you know it might not go your way?”

“It will,” Steve said, his jaw set, “it has to. It’s not his fault. None of it is his fault.”

“None of it is your fault either.”

“I...I know that. He said that, too.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I’m trying to.”

“So, you bring him back to HQ, you talk to, who? Fury?”

“I thought that would be the best place to start.”

She nodded. “And maybe there’s a tribunal. And if the verdict doesn’t go your way?”

“Then we run. We both run together.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious,” he said. He was. No question.

“I know you are.”

They stayed outside and talked for almost forty minutes until Natasha could see how anxious Steve was to get back inside.

"Come on," she said, "let's go see your boyfriend before you explode."

Back inside, Sam and Bucky were seated across from each other at the kitchen table. When Steve entered the house Bucky's eyes went right to him. Steve saw his lips quirk up in what looked like a relieved smile. 

Steve crossed the room quickly and crouched beside him. He held his hand because it had been too long since he had touched him. "You alright, Buck?"

"Yeah, fine. Your friend here asks some real good questions."

Steve looked at Sam. "Yes. He does," Steve said. 

"Hey, why don't we all move to the living room over there?" Sam suggested, "Nat and I can fill you in on what's been going on at HQ this week."

****

Sam found Steve standing on the deck, staring into the darkness. Dinner was long over, cleaned up, and Bucky was inside talking to Natasha. The two of them had become fast friends. Things had been a little awkward earlier in the day, and Steve felt the turning point had been when Natasha had turned to Bucky and said something playful in Russian that was clearly a joke at Steve's expense. Steve had no idea what it was, but Bucky could not resist looking at Steve with gleeful, shocked eyes before laughing with Natasha. He replied quickly, also in Russian, a language he had professed to hate, but maybe Nat knew that he had never heard it used to form jokes or kind words. He smiled at her after that, then ducked his head, shaking it. He actually giggled a little to himself. Steve had been overwhelmed with love for both of them. 

"Thought I'd leave them to it," Sam said, moving beside Steve. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all."

"This gives me a chance to ask something I've been wondering: how are you doing, Steve?"

"Me?" Steve asked, "I'm great! Why?"

"It's just a lot to take in, him being back. After a year of searching, after years of thinking he was dead, after _traveling through time._ I just want to make sure it's not all catching up with you all of a sudden."

Steve crossed his arms. He wanted to answer honestly. 

"I think maybe I feel..." He exhaled. "Having Bucky back is the best feeling. I can't describe it. I really can't. I haven't been myself since he...since he fell. He was gone so suddenly. Just gone. We'd been joking around even on that crazy mission just seconds before, and then he was gone. And he was my _whole life_ , Sam. I watched everything I cared about just _plummet_ out of sight. I barely remember anything that happened after that. It was just rage and pain until I did something to stop it."

Sam was quiet. He knew most of that. Maybe not what Steve was admitting about the suicide mission.

"And when I woke up here...when my plan failed and there was more rage and more pain...I barely cared about being seventy years in the future. Can you imagine? Didn't care. Didn't want to be here. I felt cheated. But the future had a use for me and I needed something to do so I went through the motions, I kept myself busy. Until I learned that Bucky was still alive. That changed everything."

Steve felt a little bad, ruining the illusion of Captain America even more for Sam, but Sam was his friend and he cared about Steve more than he cared about a near-mythical war hero. 

"You know the rest of the story," Steve said, "and I seriously can't thank you enough for your help in finding him. But if you're asking how I'm feeling right now, besides happy and relieved and madly in love...sorry..." Sam held up a hand. _Doesn't bother me in the least, please continue._ "I guess it's all sort of hitting me," Steve admitted quietly, "like the pain and anger and fear have left and it's allowed me to finally look at my insane life and, you know, holy shit, right?"

Sam laughed. "I think that's a fair description."

"Having Bucky here now makes me think about being with Bucky then, and it is definitely weird. It's _2015_. Bucky and I still look like young men. Bucky has a _robotic arm_. I'm _still_ Captain America. There are alien invasions and flying helicarriers and gay marriage and no Brooklyn Dodgers. And Bucky asked me the other day how long I think we'll look like this and I realized I have no idea how long I can live. I mean, am I going to age at all?"

"That's a pretty big question. Is it something you would like the answer to?"

"I don't know. Maybe not. I know I could probably go to the lab at HQ and find out, so I guess I don't want the answer."

"Well, there are worse problems to have than facing the possibility of living forever with the love of your life at your side," Sam smiled.

Steve grinned back. "That's true."

"But you say you were going through the motions before. Does that mean you'd like to...stop?"

"You mean stop being Captain America? I've thought about it, and, honestly? No. I like what we're doing. I like the team. And I hope Bucky can be a part of it someday when he's ready."

Steve realized that he hadn't mentioned that to Sam before. 

"I mean, if-"

"No," said Sam, "if he wants to be on the team I think that would be great. We could use his skills. I seem to recall he's a pretty good fighter."

"He's incredible."

Sam slapped his shoulder. "I'm happy for you, Steve. And I can't wait for you and Bucky to gross everyone at HQ out with your lovey dovey thing you've got going on."

Steve rolled his eyes. "We won't." Then a grin. "We might. I'm sorry in advance. I can't control myself around him. I love him so much."

"Who says you should control yourself around me?" a voice said from the doorway. 

"Bucky."

Bucky walked to Steve in a few short strides. He took his hand and kissed him quickly on the cheek. "C'mon upstairs, Stevie. We have some lost time to make up for."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Steve and Bucky are gonna hole up in their bedroom, Sam and Natasha are gonna have to find something to do together, aren't they?
> 
> Next up, an epilogue where we check in with everyone a few months later.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bonus epilogue! Kind of long actually. I decided an epilogue was the only way to stop me from just writing this story forever. And I kind of had this party scene in mind from the start.

_Epilogue_

“It’s not like a hot tub is even a luxury. It’s a necessity!”

“Drop it, Stark,” Natasha said.

It was July 4, the following summer. Independence Day and Steve’s 97th birthday. He had turned down a number of appearance requests so he could be exactly where he wanted to be: the cottage on the lake at a party with his friends, teammates, and boyfriend.

“I love the place, really,” Tony said, “I’m just wondering where the rest of it is.”

“Are you kidding, Stark?” Bucky asked, “I grew up in an apartment half this size. Family of five.”

Tony rolled his eyes dramatically, “Alright, we all know the story of how Steve Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes grew up in the sewers of Brooklyn and clawed their way to greatness, or whatever. That doesn’t mean this place has enough guest bedrooms.”

“We have tents,” Steve said, gesturing from where they stood on the deck toward the array of tents set up on the lawn.

Tony gave him a pained look that clearly communicated that Tony and Pepper would be taking one of the guest rooms inside. Steve didn’t care. He was fine with a tent. He was fine with anywhere that Bucky was. Still. Always.

“Wouldn’t kill you to rough it a little, Stark,” Bucky said, taking a sip of his beer. Alcohol was something he had only recently allowed back into his life, not trusting himself to maintain control of himself before. It turned out that he, unlike Steve, could get drunk, but his tolerance was remarkably high.

Steve was drinking a mojito that Natasha had proudly made with mint from her herb garden. The drink may as well have been water for all it was going to affect him, but it was delicious. It was in a Mason jar, which was something Natasha had seen in a magazine or a website and really loved.

“Look, Barnes,” Tony said, grinning over his Mason jar martini, “I could still program your arm to play Taylor Swift songs every time you make a fist, so you might wanna lay off.”

Tony had built Bucky a new arm after Bucky had _finally_ admitted to Steve that the old one was hurting him. With a lot of convincing, Bucky had allowed Steve to call Tony. Stark had showed up the next day at HQ, and hadn’t tried at all to conceal his excitement about finally getting to see the arm up close. To his credit, Tony had cleared the elephant out of the room immediately by saying, in that very frank way he has, that he knew Bucky had killed his parents while under Hydra’s control, and that he knew who the real killers were. No hard feelings. Steve could have hugged him.

The new arm was lighter, and had more delicate sensors that allowed Bucky to feel things like it was a flesh and blood arm. Better than a flesh and blood arm, actually. The best thing about the new arm, though, was that it had a cloaking feature that made it look like a real arm. It could be turned on and off. This innovation made Bucky much more comfortable going out in public, and Steve had been thrilled.

Clearing Bucky’s name hadn’t been as easy as Steve had hoped, but it hadn’t been as arduous as Bucky had believed either. There had been a tribunal and that had been very difficult, but in the end he had been cleared. Steve and Bucky’s relationship became public knowledge shortly after. When a reporter asked Steve, point blank, if he was romantically involved with James Barnes, he said the only thing he could think of: “Yes. Very much so.”

That quote had blown up within minutes of the words leaving Steve’s lips. People celebrated him, loved him. He became an icon for a whole new reason. It turned out it had been something people had speculated about for decades, which Steve had found shocking. Now confirmed as fact, the world fell in love with Steve and Bucky’s epic, tumultuous romance. Unauthorized books were written. Steve and Bucky were approached about a movie, but they refused it. This story was for them. “Besides,” Bucky had grinned, “they’d never find a movie star handsome enough to play me.”

“I can’t believe Rogers managed to find an even older boyfriend,” Tony said, turning to Natasha. “Speaking of not-so-young love, where’s that man of yours?”

“Sam went to get the bonfire started with _your_ man,” Nat said, gesturing toward the lake where Rhodes and Sam seemed to be arguing about the best way to start a fire. “Why? Are you going to pull him aside and talk wind resistance improvements all night?”

“Hey, I have a gift and I like to share it. Bionic Commando over here isn’t complaining about his new arm.”

“No,” Bucky said, smiling at Steve. Steve smiled back. They _loved_ the new arm. In particular, they loved how _sensitive_ the new arm was. Steve, unable to resist when Bucky was looking at him with so much adoration, tilted his head and kissed him.

“Aw, would you look at how happy these two make each other?” Tony asked, pointing a thumb toward them, “Alright. But I have a limit on how many defrosted World War II vets I allow into my social circle. Two is the limit!”

“Should we tell him about George?” Bucky mock whispered.

Steve laughed. It was good to laugh about their insane lives now. What else could they do?

Clint joined their circle. He had been on grill duty most of the afternoon. The menu had consisted of the most American food everyone could think of: cheeseburgers, corn on the cob, potato salad, and a gigantic slab cake from the local bakery, decorated to look like the American flag. Steve knew the theming had more to do with teasing him than celebrating the birth of their nation, but he didn’t complain because he actually did love all of those foods.

“Ah! Just in time,” Tony said as Clint approached, “Another martini, my good man! Oh gosh, I’m sorry...I forgot that you’re an Avenger.” 

“You know,” Clint said, ignoring Tony completely, “I could double the size of this deck for you, Nat. You might want to consider it.”

“Hey, then there’d be room for the hot tub!” Tony said happily.

“You and Laura can have one of the guest rooms,” Natasha said, ignoring Tony completely, “because you’re my favourites.”

“Actually,” Clint said, “we were kinda looking forward to the tent. Something romantic about a tent.”

Bucky turned to Steve with a look that was full of promise. Full of sinful, filthy promise. Bucky was so good at silently communicating dirty thoughts to Steve. He had no idea how he did it, but he never wanted him to stop.

Over the past few months, Bucky had gradually opened up to some of the other Avengers. Natasha and Sam first, but he soon found a kinship with Wanda, who was very familiar with being shaped and used by Hydra. And Bucky had been absolutely _fascinated_ by Vision. Steve didn’t think anyone had ever talked to Vision as much as Bucky did, besides Wanda. Bucky had once been gone for three hours, and Steve had found him in one of the surveillance rooms engrossed in conversation with Vision and looking absolutely giddy.

Bucky had always been interested in technology, and now he called one of the most high tech buildings in the world his home. A couple of months after he had moved in with Steve, he had volunteered to help out in the vehicle repair bay. Bucky never said it, but Steve suspected that had been Sam's idea. It had given Bucky a way to feel useful, and to learn more about something he was interested in. He began to feel like a part of the team without having to go into battle.

One night in April, Bucky had mentioned to Steve that he might like to start training with the team. The two of them had been sparring together for months, although the sessions involved more kissing and dirty talk than Steve was used to in his combat training. After one session that had been cut short in favour of shower sex, Steve had suggested that Bucky might try sparring with Natasha instead. It had been the first time Bucky had fought with anyone other than Steve since his return. Bucky had been anxious about losing control, and Steve had agreed to watch from the sidelines. Natasha, of course, had perfect control of the situation, and Steve saw Bucky find his confidence almost immediately. Watching the two of them spar had become one of Steve’s favourite activities.

Tony left to find Pepper, grumbling about no one appreciating his wit. Natasha and Clint were negotiating the terms of a bet they were making about whether Sam or Rhodes would be the first to try to jump over the bonfire on a dare. Steve felt Bucky tug on his arm.

“What?” Steve asked, but Bucky was already walking away with a glance that clearly told Steve he wanted to be followed.

They left the deck and went around the corner of the house where the cars were parked and no one else was. The sun had almost set completely.

“What’s up?” Steve asked, grinning stupidly because that’s what he did when he was alone with Bucky.

Bucky pressed him up against the side of the house. “Nothing,” he said in a low voice, “just wanted a little alone time with the birthday boy.” He pressed his mouth against the sensitive spot just under Steve’s jawbone. Steve felt Bucky’s teeth and tongue moving against his pulse point and gasped.

“Don’t...don’t get me all turned on right now, Buck.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it…” Bucky’s mouth moved to Steve’s adam’s apple, and Steve’s head tilted back against the wall of the house involuntarily.

“I’m serious,” Steve said, his strained voice doing nothing to help his argument, “We can’t...party...friends…”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” Bucky breathed against him, but at the same time his hands shot up under Steve’s t-shirt, “As soon…as you say...’I want you to stop, Bucky’.”

“I…” Bucky crushed his mouth against Steve’s, cutting him off and making Steve moan.

“What’s that? Didn’t catch that,” Bucky murmured before taking Steve’s mouth again. This time Steve surrendered and they kissed with frantic, open mouths for what seemed like an eternity. 

“Did you have something to say to me?” Bucky asked, pulling back just enough to smirk at Steve.

“Fuck you,” Steve rasped, grabbing Bucky’s hips and pulling them hard against his own. He knew it was stupid and they should definitely not be doing this but it was too late now. He could feel Bucky grinning against his mouth as he kissed him and he could feel Bucky's arousal as he ground his hips into him. "Shed," Steve managed. " _Now._ "

They quickly crossed the yard to the small shed that stood near the edge of the trees, still out of view from the rest of the party guests. It was pitch black darkness inside. The door only locked from the outside with a simple hook so Steve had to hold the door closed behind his back. He was still fumbling with the handle when Bucky dropped to his knees in front of him. Steve couldn't quite see, but he felt Bucky's hands opening his jeans, roughly hauling them down and then he felt the wet heat of Bucky's mouth.

"Jesus," Steve hissed, "I wish I could see you, but this feels fucking incredible."

Bucky hummed in response. Steve pulled the door tighter behind him as his head slammed back against it. 

It had been months since Bucky had come back into Steve's life and gave him everything Steve had ever dreamed of. Months of touching, kissing, fucking. Steve was still no better at dirty talk, but the darkness made him brave. Maybe he couldn't effortlessly form beautiful, filthy sentences like Bucky did, but Steve had been known to pull out a great speech when the situation required one.

"I love you, Bucky. I love you so much. Sometimes I get so overwhelmed by how much I love you. I'll look at you and it takes my breath away. You...ah, _God_...you're so fucking amazing. You're so good and so brave and so strong. And you're beautiful. Just stunning. I will never... _fuck!_...I will never get tired of looking at you. I’m so grateful for every day I get to...”

Maybe not Steve’s finest speech, but he meant every word, anyway. It got cut a little short because he lost the ability to speak when Bucky swallowed around his cock. Moments later it was all over and Steve was being kissed very enthusiastically by Bucky.

“Don’t deserve you,” Bucky murmured, “don’t fucking deserve you.”

“You do, Buck, you deserve more than I can give you.”

Bucky leaned his head on Steve’s shoulder and Steve wrapped his arms tight around him. After a minute Steve moved his hands down to Bucky’s waistband but Bucky took a step back.

“It’s ok, Steve. I’m ok right now. I, uh, I want to give you something. For your birthday.”

“That wasn’t my present?” Steve asked. If it hadn’t been so dark, Bucky could have seen his smirk.

“Let’s go somewhere we can see,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s hand in the dark. Steve could tell he was nervous about something.

They walked to a patch of grass between the house and the shed, dimly lit by the lights from the house and the nearly full moon in the sky. Bucky looked around, checking to make sure they had their privacy, Steve suspected. 

“Look, um, I don’t want you to think this means we have to do anything...official...or whatever. I’m not asking anything of you. I just wanted…”

“Bucky?”

Bucky sighed. “I didn’t even wrap them or anything. I’m sorry. This is dumb.”

“Buck, come on. It’s me. What is it?”

Bucky chewed his lip for a moment, brow furrowed, then dipped his fingers into the right pocket of his jeans. He closed a fist around whatever he retrieved from it.

“I, um, I made these. In the shop at HQ. Couldn’t get gold but plenty of titanium there. I sort of...stole the titanium. But just a little of it. Anyway, here.”

Bucky opened his hand and revealed two shiny, silver bands. Simple, clean. One for each of them.

“Buck,” Steve breathed, “are these…?”

“No, I mean...I’m not saying we need to get...I just wanted us to have something like, I don’t know. Like a symbol, I guess? You don’t have to wear it. Like I said, it’s dumb. I’m sorry.”

Steve did three things in very quick succession: he closed Bucky’s fingers over the rings, grabbed his shirt to pull him close, and kissed him with everything he had.

“Bucky,” he said when they finally broke apart, “I love you and I want to wear the ring. I...are you _kidding_ me? You didn’t think I’d like this? Do you even _know_ me?”

“Yeah? You like it?”

“You’re incredible, Bucky. Seriously. You never stop surprising me. You shouldn’t have stolen the titanium, and we _will_ pay for it, but I love you so much right now. Can I…?” Steve looked pointedly at the hand that still concealed the two rings.

Steve held out his hand with a grin. Bucky rolled his eyes, but grinned back. He slid the ring onto Steve’s finger.

“Perfect fit!” Steve said happily.

“Yeah, I thought it might be,” Bucky said as he slipped his own ring onto his right hand. “Left hand’s not so good for rings,” he explained unnecessarily.

Steve stepped forward and kissed Bucky again, slowly, needing to communicate all of the love and happiness he felt in that moment. Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s neck and kissed him back in a way that let Steve know he knew exactly how he felt.

“We don’t have to,” Steve said, his lips brushing Bucky’s ear, “but I _would_ marry you. Just so you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I would have married you back then if we could have. Seems a shame to waste the opportunity now that we have it.”

“You could be my husband,” Bucky seemed to turn the word over, as if he hadn’t actually realized this possibility before. 

“I could,” Steve agreed, “and you could be mine.”

“I like how that sounds.”

“Mmm...me too. And our fans would love it!”

Bucky laughed. “A nice fairy tale ending to our story.”

“I don’t need the fairy tale ending, Buck. I’m happy now and you know I’m with you ‘til…”

“I know. I don’t need any paperwork or anything. But I sure like the sounds of _husband_.”

“We can talk about it.”

“Yeah, ok.”

“Let’s get back to the party,” Steve suggested.

“People are gonna notice the rings.”

“Then I’ll tell them the truth: the man I love gave me the perfect birthday gift.”

“They’re gonna tease you. And me.”

“Don’t care! I’m never taking it off.”

“You’re a dumb sap.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who _handcrafted_ a couple of wedding rings.”

“They’re not…”

“Come on! We can place bets on who notices them first!”

“Well, Natasha, obviously.”

“Fine. I’ll say Tony. He is surprisingly observant, especially about things that are none of his business.”

Steve reached for Bucky's right hand with his left. He brought it to his lips and kissed Bucky's knuckles before intertwining their fingers, rings rubbing up against each other. They returned to the party in time for fireworks and more drinking and teasing and laughing with the most incredible group of people that Steve was proud to call his friends. 

Pepper noticed the rings first.

-End-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys SO MUCH for reading and leaving kudos and commenting. I really appreciate it because this was my first Stucky fic. First Marvel fic, actually! My main motivation for getting this story done was that I have an idea for a Stucky AU story that I wanted to get started on right away. I also have a PWP Steve/Natasha story that has been sitting unfinished for like forever. It's just something I needed to get out of my system.
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr.](http://eloisereed.tumblr.com/) Just getting started on there, but it will be full of fangirl nonsense soon enough.


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